


Changing Tides

by marcusgriffin



Category: Kabby fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Kabby, Marriage of Convenience, Pre-Season/Series 01, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcusgriffin/pseuds/marcusgriffin
Summary: In the wake of her husband's death and her daughter's incarceration, Abby Griffin discovers she's carrying Jake's unborn child. Facing an impossible choice of what to do next, her sworn-enemy Marcus Kane offers her an unlikely solution that ends up bringing them together.Begins pre-series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Kat_Rowe for the beta, and an especially large shout-out to her for basically writing the Ark reproductive statutes featured in the next chapter, since that is _not_ my strong point. That said, we may diverge from canon Ark law a little for the sake of shippy tropes. ;) Don't @ me.
> 
> This is rated T for now, but will most-likely devolve into M territory down the line. I will try to update twice a week. A big thank for your feedback on the previous two fics. I hope you enjoy the delicious angst! And remember, hope is everything.
> 
> Title and lyrics inspired by Changing Tides by The Fray.

> Changing tides  
>  That's the hardest part of life  
>  Hold me tight  
>  And we will move as one in the changing tides

Abby sat in the stark emptiness of medical bay, slouched over the table, with nothing but the faint hum of machinery and dim but piercing blue lights to keep her company. There had always been a quiet comfort here, especially after hours, and especially tonight.

Needing that comfort, she stared down at the test results on her device. The initial roll of nausea in her stomach began to give way to numbness, but there was a spark of white-hot panic that threatened to take over. She wouldn’t let it, though; panicking was the last thing she could do. She’d never been the most cautious person, and despite being a woman of science, it was typically her heart and not her head that dictated her important decisions, but she knew she couldn’t afford such recklessness tonight. Not with this.

She lifted a shaky hand to wipe away a few stubborn, isolated tears from her cheeks. It was as if they were shed out of muscle memory alone, because she didn’t feel much aside from the exhausted, empty pit inside her chest, her body now spent from crying as hard as she had.

It was unfair. It was cruel. It was gutting. It was all at once. It was overload, and _it was too much_. She needed to scream or punch or watch the vacuum of space suck the life out of whomever was responsible for this nightmare. She didn’t believe in god, but if she had, she’d be yelling at the top of her lungs into the silent void outside the Ark, asking what she could have possibly done to deserve this. But she wasn’t religious, nor very spiritual, and the only plausible answer to her suffering was science. And it left her no one to blame but herself. 

The sound of someone clearing his throat stung her ears and dragged her back to the present. She looked up to see Vice Chancellor and Head of Security Marcus Kane standing in the door, large frame letting very little light past his silhouette, his expression grim and cautious. Even in shadow, it was unmistakingly him, towering over her with intimidation. He was the last person she wanted to see right now.

“Abby,” he said quietly, taking a step into the room and studying her. It had to be obvious she’d been crying, either from her bloodshot eyes and makeup stained cheeks, or those pesky tears with a mind of their own, continuing to roll down her face without asking for permission, leaving behind wet trails that refused to dry in the stale, recycled air.

She abruptly stashed the tablet out of sight and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, turning her attention to the pile of work in front of her.

“Abby,” he said again, gently, shifting his weight. “It’s past curfew.”

“I was with a patient.”

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly.

He stepped closer, and damn him, why _him_ of all people? She’d known the man almost twenty years and spent most of that time absolutely infuriated by him. And it’s not as if the feeling wasn’t mutual; he was constantly questioning her at every turn, always so righteously opposed to every little thing she did, staring at her with those blistering eyes and smug smile that she wanted to slap off his face. And now here he was, in her dire moment of vulnerability, and he actually had the nerve to look _concerned_.

_How dare he?_

She felt his eyes sweep over her, examining every last ounce of evidence he could use to conclude she was losing her grip. He would love that, wouldn’t he? Love to force her off-duty and on bereavement leave, effectively getting her out of his sickening, well-groomed hair for at least a week. Was she too emotional? Too distraught? Everyone had told her she should to take time off after Jake, but what she _needed_ was to keep working and distract herself, diving in head first and giving herself little time to think about anything else. It had only been thirty two days, and she was determined to mourn in her own way. She wasn’t only mourning the loss of her husband, but of her daughter, torn away from her and living in solitary for an entire year sentence in the Skybox. If it was crippling for herself, it had to be crippling for Clarke, who first lost her father, then was forced to suffer in isolation. The thought alone threatened to lift the pause she’d pressed on her tears, but she refused to cry in front of Marcus Kane of all people.

_It was too much._

“As I said, it’s past curfew. If you’re not actively working on a medical emergency, you need to return to your quarters for the rest of the cycle.” His voice was firm but gentle, and his calm made her hate him even more.

“I _am_ working,” she snapped, turning her body away and staring down at the papers in front of her, but all she could see was white--rage, agony, sorrow, fear, contempt, and emotions she couldn’t even name, all furrowed into a tightly wound ball of white.

“Abby,” he attempted again. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder and goddamnit, Kane wasn’t _allowed_ to comfort her. He was supposed to drag her by her arm to her quarters and give her a warning for her disobedience, wearing his typical sneer and eyes ablaze with something that wasn’t quite hate but certainly wasn’t fondness. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t trying to be _nice._

“Just leave me alone!”

Swiftly, she gathered up files and folders, but her hands trembled, and the tablet amongst her things was sent plummeting from the table. He caught it in his far more coordinated hands before it reached the floor, and she watched with a sinking pit in her stomach as his neutral expression grew grave and her furtive attempts rapidly slipped out of her control.

He stared down at the now illuminated screen, studying it, before slowly turning his attention back to her. She could hear panic and adrenaline ringing in her ears, and the white in her center vision spread.

Wordlessly, he set the device on the table, eyes never leaving hers, and it felt like an eternity passed as she was left to wonder if he comprehended any of what he had just seen. He was a smart man, but he wasn’t a man of science, nor medicine. His skills were much more mundane. Maybe there was a chance he’d still drag her back to her quarters and let her off with a pesky warning, oblivious to the readings on the tablet.

Maybe there was a chance he knew nothing about elevated prestogerone, estrogen, and hCG levels.

“What are you going to do?” he finally whispered, breaking the silence.

And there it was, the answer to the unspoken question tossing and turning in her mind, just as it had been every night.

 _He knew._ And there were only two possible answers to his question that wouldn’t result in her incarceration.

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly, and to her utmost surprise, he nodded and took a step back. Apparently even Marcus Kane knew when to submit to sentiment over law.

“Please return to your quarters before my next round,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

She watched him turn around, watched him walk out of medical, watched him disappear into the dark corridor outside, and the heavy recession of his footsteps resonated inside of her long after he was gone, leaving her dazed and motionless. She had so much to think about, so much to consider, and the numbness deep inside of her abruptly morphed into sorrow.

Choking back a sob, her tears welled once again, and Abby brought a hand to rest on her stomach. With Jake’s child growing inside of her, she’d never felt more alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus makes her an offer that leaves her speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta and all of her help with Ark reproductive laws. Thanks to Joana for letting me sound off headcanons at her. Thanks to my Twitter family for being supportive. Thanks to... my cats. They're cute. 
> 
> I have many chapters written, and I'm so excited to share this story with everyone. Your comments and feedback have inspired me so much!

Ark reproductive statutes were incredibly straightforward.

One child per legally sanctioned, genetically sound couple.

A healthy woman could have up to two children although, to maximize genetic diversity in future generations, she was limited to one child per biological father, and could not father children by men who were related to each other. An unborn child conceived in an illicit or otherwise unsanctioned union would undergo genetic testing as soon as its existence was discovered. In the event the child carried some disease, or was the unfortunate product of a parent in excess of their statutory limit, termination was the only legal option. An otherwise healthy child, born to parents who would not formalize their union for whatever reason, could be put up for adoption without prejudice. The waiting list of couples unable to conceive, whether due to health considerations or gender pairings, was always growing.

The original “two child per couple” limit had led to a near-catastrophic population explosion, while a strict one-child policy had led to an equally-dangerous case of genetic bottlenecking. The modified rules had managed to strike a tenuous but viable balance between the two extremes. Of course, all couples had to be approved by leadership and medical before removal of the woman’s implant.

All Ark women were injected with an implant well before they reached sexual maturity.

Abby had treated countless women over the years, some celebrating their pregnancies, others crying into her chest as they were forced to terminate or be floated, and many who would be carrying their child to term only to see it given away to a couple in need from another station. She had seen implants malfunction, some be illegally removed, but most of them operate normally to ensure the Ark would never become overpopulated in their lifetime.

Somewhere in all of that, she had forgotten to take care of her own.

She stood in the now too-large quarters that she had once shared with her husband and daughter. They’d seemed so confined and cramped at times. There was still staggering amounts of her family strewn about, a daily, haunting reminder of just how alone she was. Wires, pieces of scrap metal, and switchboards lay scattered over Jake’s desk, grease stains and small, electrical burns permanently etched into the surface. One of his shirts remained discarded over the back of a chair, and despite staring at it every day, she hadn’t had the heart to put it away yet. Clarke’s graphite and sketchbooks lay equally littered throughout the living area--like father, like daughter--page after page of drawings of the surface Clarke had seen in photographs, and some, Abby thought, derived entirely from her daughter’s inventive imagination.

She turned, catching her profile in the mirror and imagining how large her stomach would become, barely a bump there now. She’d been absolutely massive while carrying Clarke, her petite frame overpowered by her swollen belly to the point that Jake teased she must have swallowed a reactor core. But this time around, if she did have the opportunity to see how big she’d grow, it would involve watching Jake’s child being given away to another family, and she wasn’t sure she could live through letting yet another part of him go.

Dread pooling in her chest once again, she rested a hand on her stomach and closed her eyes, too spent to cry anymore, at least for now, and far too exhausted to do anything but become lost in her own memories.

Three knocks erupted against the door. She opened it, staring at the face of Marcus Kane once again. Her morning was getting better and better...

“Going to invite me in, Abby?”

That smug bastard. What, did he think she was going to make him stand out in the hall while they talked about her illegal baby?

“Yeah, come on in,” she said, certain her tone communicated just how thrilled she was to see him. She walked into the room and leaned back against the wall, watching him grimly. “Would you like something to drink?” Since that’s what people asked.

He shook his head, expression so tightly wound she was sure there must be an actual, physical stick up his ass. She envisioned him coming into medical for that particular problem, the corner of her mouth curling up into a fleeting smirk despite the gravity of the situation.

He looked around before deciding to stand what he must have considered to be a safe distance away, staring at her intently. There was a degree of something non-hostile behind his eyes, but being how out of character that was for either of them, she wasn’t ready to put a name on it yet.

“Abby,” he began, but she was not about to let him go first. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

“It was an accident, okay?” she snapped, in attempts to justify herself. “My implant malfunctioned. I wasn’t _trying_ for a second child at forty years old!”

He gave her a pained, weak smile in response and looked down, lips pursed.

“I know.”

She stared at him in surprise. What the hell was going on with him? Shouldn’t he be yelling back at her? _“Your track record with the law proves otherwise, Councilor! Now, choose. Terminate or submit the fetus_ _to the system, or face capital punishment.”_

“You know?” she repeated, in dire need of clarification. She was beginning to wonder if his emotional displays over the last two days were the result of a brain condition he was developing. Was he dying? It was one of the only ways to explain whatever the hell _this_ was.

“Of course, Abby. I know you take a rather.. frivolous approach to the law, but you’d never do anything to endanger your own child.”

She crossed her arms and stared at him, blinking a few times.

“So you’re not going to lecture me?”

“I don’t think that’s what you need, nor would it be appropriate,” he answered with a shrug. “You’re a smart woman. You know your options. I’m not going to stand here and patronize you.”

Since _when_?

“My options,” she said through a bitter laugh. “Either way, I lose."

She looked down and clutched her necklace in her hand, the cold metal of Jake’s ring reminding her there was no good choice to make. What would he do if he was here? He always had a way of talking her down from her rash decisions, his mellow nature a sharp but welcome contrast to her impulsivity. The memory of his calming hands on her shoulders and his gentle, blue eyes as he murmured soothingly in her ear caused tears to well up inside her. She missed him so much more than she’d been able to admit to herself up to this point.

Shoulders slumped and features twisted, she brought a hand to her face and finally gave in, quietly weeping and too exhausted for false dignity.

She heard him take a step towards her and falter.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, breath ragged. “I can’t do this.”

She felt his hand find her forearm, fingers long enough to wrap around her wrist and draw it from her face. His touch was gentle yet commanding, and it seemed such an utter contradiction to how she imagined it would be.

“Abby,” he breathed, bending his head to try to meet her gaze.

She looked at him more helplessly than she meant to. All her life it was like she was trying to prove something to him, and there she was, staring at him with wild desperation. It should have bothered her more than it did, but she was just so tired.

“Abby, I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, but I want you to know that… I want you to know that I’m here for you, however you might need me.” He hesitated, then continued, “I know we’ve had our differences, but we did used to be friends.”

Friends? That felt like another life.

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her blurry vision. His expression was soft, perhaps too soft, and his lips curled up in the slightest sad smile. He had never looked at her like this. She wondered if he’d ever looked at _anyone_ like this. She was tempted to call it pity in place of sympathy, since that would be more like him, but there was an unfamiliar gentleness to his eyes that soothed her conflict.  

Marcus Kane, so brutal and lawful and cold and… sentimental?

“If I give up this baby, I’m giving up a part of Jake. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do that,” she confessed, staring up at him helplessly. “And terminating it is not what he would have wanted for me.”

He finally released her wrist, and just when the universe was starting to feel more balanced, he rested his large hands on the tops of her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze.

“How far along are you, exactly?” he asked, expression gentle.

“A little over four weeks,” she said, unsure of why they were both whispering as if they were conspiring together.

She watched him, and he was clearly contemplating something, his brow knit and expression intense but also a little warm. He was such a walking contradiction today.

He squeezed her shoulders even more tightly.

“What is it?” she asked quietly, dread sinking into her chest.

He opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it, releasing her shoulders and turning away from her. It wasn’t as if it made much of a difference; he masked his emotions so well that she had no idea what he was thinking to begin with.

“ _Kane_?”

He sighed and rubbed his face, slowly turning back towards her, tight features slowly softening.

“I’ll marry you,” he said finally, expression bleak but decided.

The phrase lingered for several long moments, hanging over them like a heavy layer of unfiltered air, sucking the oxygen from the room temporarily. Ears ringing, she stared at him with something akin to shock, but shock was barely adequate to describe what she was feeling. She decided, with a shake of her head, that she had to have heard him wrong.

“W-what?”

“I’ll marry you,” he repeated, suddenly closing the distance between them until he was only a few inches away, staring down at her so intently with deep, brown eyes that seemed to be searching hers with near desperation. How long had he been sitting on this idea?  

“Marcus, I don’t think that’s--”  
  
“What would it take to fudge the DNA results and pregnancy timeline?”

She gaped at him, because _dear god_ , was _Marcus_ _Kane_ actually offering to help her break the law? Her heart raced. Maybe the hormones were making her crazy, because some things were too far out of the realm of possibility, and Marcus Kane proposing to her was definitely one of them.  

“Abby, please. What would it take? Who would need to be in on it?”

She stared at him, too dumbfounded to do anything but answer honestly, “Just Jackson.”

“Do you trust him?”

“With my life.”

“Good.”

“And Thelonious would have to sign our marriage certificate and approve my implant removal.”

“He will.”

He let her go and stepped away again.

“You have to decide quickly, Abby. We both know you’re not going to be able to hide this for much longer,” he said, giving her a weak, sympathetic smile, before taking a step back. He hesitated, scanning her one last time, then moved to the door, pausing to glance over his shoulder. “Just… think about it.”

The door whirred open and close, and her previously too-large quarters suddenly felt like they were closing in around her, making her dizzy with claustrophobia.

Her mind struggled to catch up.

Marcus Kane, her constant rival, often her sole opposition on the Council, the man who utterly infuriated her, who drove her absolutely mad at every turn, a man who wouldn’t break the law to save his own mother, let alone himself, had just offered to cover up her illegal pregnancy. He’d offered to _marry_ her, or at least offered to pretend to marry her. It was Kane, and it wasn’t like he’d ever expect the real thing from a woman he practically despised. She wondered if he even realized how much he’d be giving up if they went through with this. He couldn’t. He was the antagonist in this story, her arch-nemesis, her sworn enemy.

Wasn’t he?

She sat down at her desk and stared at the picture of her, Jake, and Clarke, taken two years ago at Clarke’s end of school year party back when everything was normal and happy and simple--before everything went to hell. Gripping the ring on her necklace and resting her other hand on her abdomen, Abby let out a broken sob and submitted to the tears for the countless time that day.

She finally allowed herself to mourn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, Kane and Abby butt heads, and she shares a tender moment with Jake. Presently, she gives Kane an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta.

_Abby was absolutely_ **_fuming_** _._

_She exited the Council Room in a flurry, stalked down the corridor towards her quarters, her cheeks crimson and jaw clenched, and Marcus Last-Word Kane stalked right after her._

_“Councilor, we’re not finished! You can’t just walk away from this!”_

_She spun around on her heel, which landed her inches away from his towering form. He swayed some but didn’t step back, and she made herself taller, pointing an accusatory finger in his face._

_“How the hell am I supposed to expect a fair vote when you’ve bought off half the Council?!”_

_“Bought off?” he asked incredulously, letting out a brief laugh. “Abby, I would never do such a thing. If you’re referring to lobbying for votes, however, that is perfectly legal."_

_Why did everything he say come across so damn patronizing? She rolled her eyes and started walking again, but immediately felt his strong grip around her upper arm, enough to halt her, but not enough to cause her physical pain. Bastard. He had no right to touch her!_

_“Get your hands off of me!” she snapped, spinning around and glaring at him as she attempted_ _to pry loose his officious fingers._

_People were staring. It wasn’t like this was a change of scenery, just a normal Thursday, but people were definitely staring. There was a piece of her that realized how unprofessional this all was, but he infuriated her so much she didn’t give a damn about appearances. They could stare all they wanted and then thank them for the free show._

_“Come back to the meeting. It’s important we pass this vote tonight, and without every Council member present, it will be automatically tabled for another ten days.”_

_“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not when the health of so many nursing mothers is on the line. I’ll restructure the proposition and find another way, but I am sure as hell not going back in there so you can sweep this issue under the table.”_

_She gave him a cold, disdainful stare, before turning away from him and aggressively punching in_ _the code to her door._

_“This isn’t finished, Doctor Griffin!”_

_“Oh, go to hell!”_

_She barreled inside and slammed the door with a scowl, and Jake glanced up from his notes with an amused smile._

_“That was a loud one.”_

_“Shut up,” she answered, bending to take off her boots, pieces of hair falling around her face as her braid dangled forward._

_“You know, baby, you better be careful or people might start to think you two actually_ **_like_ ** _each other.”_

_She shot Jake a glare and slid off her boots the rest of the way, straightening slowly since her back protested. God, she was tense._

_“He’s ridiculous. He actually managed to turn more than half the Council against me before I’d even brought the proposal to the table!”_

_“Kane has always been persuasive,” Jake answered calmly, setting down his pencil and standing. “Remember debate team?”_

_She gripped the back of a chair, ignoring the question and turning away from him. He moved to stand behind her, lifting his hands to knead her shoulders._

_“Relax,” he breathed in her ear, and his voice was hot and calming all at once. “You’re my girl, and you always get your way in the end. Restructure your argument, come up with more accessible evidence to support your statement, work a little of that Abby Griffin charm… you’ll come out on top. You always do.”_

_She closed her eyes and tried to relax, muscles twitching somewhere between agony and relief as he slowly drained her of her tension with deft fingers and strong, loving hands._

_“We can survive off of half-rations, but nursing mothers may not be able to for much longer,” she whispered._

_“I know, baby. You told me.”_

_“The fire on Farm compromised crop yields by thirty percent, which makes this a nutritional matter and therefore a medical emergency. I should have the final say on this one.”_

_“I know,” he repeated. “You’re preaching to the choir. Now just convince_ **_them_ ** _.”_

_She smiled weakly and glanced up at him over her shoulder, lips finding his in a brief but grateful kiss. He always knew how to reel her back in. It was one of the reasons she fell in love with him all those years ago when they were just kids in science class, her taking furious notes and him obnoxiously puffing hot air into her ear and poking her ribcage to try to get her to just_ **_relax_ ** _._

_“Thank you,” she breathed, nuzzling his cheek._

_“Anytime. Now, promise me you’re not still thinking about Kane? He stresses you out so much that I’m afraid he’s gonna give you gray hair… although that might be kinda hot.”_

_“He doesn’t--” she began defensively, inhaling sharply before relaxing and offering him a faint smile of reluctance. “I’m not thinking about any man other than you right now. Promise.”_

_He grinned down at her in somewhat smug amusement, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her safely back against his firm chest._

_“Because if you were…”_

_“I’m not.”_

_He chuckled and kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then her jaw, then that sensitive skin right behind her ear where her hair was drawn away into a loose braid. She groaned quietly and covered his hands with hers._

_“I love you,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut as his lips latched onto her throat briefly before trailing their way down to her collarbone, igniting her skin on fire along the way._

_“I love you, too, baby,” he breathed, sliding his hands up her stomach._

_It didn’t take long for Jake to help her forget about Marcus Kane._

* * * *

She knocked on his door. She hated to admit it, but she knew his schedule. And it wasn’t because she was stalking him or obsessed with him or anything of the sort, which she suspected he’d smugly accuse her of doing; he was just so agonizingly exact down to the minute, that it made him predictable enough for anyone to track. On Tuesdays, he always finished with his guard shift at 1700 hours, retrieved his meal tray, and ate in his quarters. She was usually eating with Jackson and Callie in the mess hall around that time, so she would watch him take his food to go. Because socializing would clearly kill him.

Tonight, after staring at her food for the better part of fifteen minutes, she wrapped up the conversation by saying she wasn't feeling well, ignoring the blatant concern from her friends, returned her tray, and headed down the hall towards his quarters, just minutes behind him.

It had taken her ages to work up the courage to knock, but luckily most of the sector was still in the mess hall and she only had to dodge one or two funny looks as she hovered outside of Councilor Kane’s quarters, fist lifting and knuckles hesitantly brushing the cool structure before dropping, over and over again. It had to look comical.

She finally knocked, and the door quickly opened. He stood there gazing down at her with something vaguely resembling surprise, napkin in his hand as he absently dabbed his mouth.

“Abby,” he said, glancing around the hall before quickly ushering her inside.

She tried to recall if she’d ever been in his quarters before. Perhaps she’d seen them while he fled inside after one of their shouting matches, but she couldn’t pinpoint a time she’d actually been inside, surrounded by just him and his personal belongings… what few of them he had. The place looked cleaner than the goddamn OR.

She glanced around, first observing an old-fashioned Earth record player, with a few accompanying albums neatly tucked aside it, six books stacked meticulously on their shelf, his uniforms and grayscale wardrobe folded in an orderly fashion inside the open closet, and lastly his meal tray, sitting half-eaten on the desk alongside his data pad, where she could vaguely make out a list of guard schedules illuminating a single framed picture of him and his mother that rested nearby. He really couldn’t stop working, could he? Maybe that was the one thing in this entire universe the two of them had in common.

He watched her closely, seeming to search her for answers. It wasn't like he’d _proposed_ to her eleven hours ago or anything.

She moved over to his viewing window and folded her arms across her chest, staring out at the glowing blue orb as the African continent came into view. She could feel his eyes burrowing into her back and thought maybe they would penetrate her until his intensity caused a black hole to open up and engulf them both, ridding them of this mess entirely.

“I… wanted to clarify a few things,” she finally said, still watching the planet.

“Alright,” she heard him say, voice carrying a weight of uneasiness.

“Yesterday," she asked, "you meant a sham marriage?"

He flinched but nodded. “Of course. We’d have to maintain appearances, but I’d obviously never expect or demand anything from you,” he explained. "Does this mean you’ve made up your mind?”

She slowly turned around to face him.

The truth was, she’d spent the entire day in medical, working compulsively next to Jackson as she tried not to think about anything other than her work. She’d buried herself in quarterly vaccination updates, nutritional reports due to the fire on Farm, reworked her proposal for the Council meeting, and whatever else she could get her hands on, ignoring Jackson’s concerned gaze the entire time, and certainly ignoring Kane's proposal. Maybe it was because it was overwhelming, or maybe it was because she _had_ already made up her mind, whether or not she cared to admit it.

Abby usually didn’t do anything without utmost conviction, but he was right; ensuring the safety of her children was the most important thing to her, and if that meant marrying a man she despised, she was beginning to think it would all be worth it in the end.

Her lack of an answer draped over them in the small room, her ears ringing from the silence.

“We’ll need to live together,” he clarified quietly. “We’ll need everyone to think that this is legitimate for this to work at all. It’s unbelievable enough that the two of us would get married, so it has to _seem_ real, no matter how hard that might be for you.”

“You don’t think I know all of that?” she half-shouted through clenched teeth.

“Abby.” He looked up at her, slowly, eyes sympathetic for a brief moment. "This won't be easy for you. People _will_ talk.”

“They always do.”

She hesitated, mind drifting to the effects this might have on him. It startled her.

“Are _you_ sure about this? I mean, I’m not exactly your favorite person, Kane. You’d be giving up so much of your life, too.”

“I’m well aware. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I hadn’t fully considered the ramifications.”

She shook her head, because there was still something she couldn’t wrap her brain around.

“But… _why_?”

He looked at her for a long moment before his gaze finally wavered and fell to some nondescript point on the ground. She watched him run his hand over his face and shift his weight, heard him sigh as he deliberated carefully. What was going on in that head of his? For once in her life, she genuinely wanted to know.

“Because,” he finally began, still not looking at her, “I may enforce the law, but it doesn’t mean I always believe it’s just. I do my job because I have to for our survival, not because I like it. What happened with Jake was… the worst possible scenario. None of us wanted that. And I’d like to help you through this, in whatever way I can. If that means marrying you and becoming the legal father to your child and breaking a few laws along the way, then that’s what I’ll do, because it’s the right thing to do.”

She stared at him in shock, mouth opening to speak but no sound coming out. She had never seen this side of him, and it almost felt wrong to be seeing it at all, like she was privy to some intimate detail that she had no right to.

Swallowing hard, she stepped closer and stared up at him, eyes stinging with tears.

“Thank you,” she whispered with unadulterated gratitude, tempted to draw him into a hug. But that would be too much, so she wrapped her fingers around his forearm, gave him a gentle squeeze, and retreated towards the door.

“I am not terminating this pregnancy, and I’m certainly not giving the last piece of Jake I have to strangers on another station, knowing I'll never be allowed to see it."

“So, it’s settled?” he asked, eyes widening before his expression turned unreadable again.

“Can you set up our license signing with Thelonious?”

“I’ll get us in first thing tomorrow.”

She nodded curtly, glancing at him over her shoulder, feeling as if there was more to say, and there probably was, but the need to escape out of this tiny room with all of his pristine belongings was rapidly growing. So she left much quicker than she arrived, her answer to his proposal cold and casual. This was merely a business agreement, after all.

It wasn’t until late that night as she laid in bed that it fully dawned on her.

She was going to be Doctor Abigail _Kane._                                                                                                               


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren't always enemies. In fact, there was a time when they talked about their fears and he would give her his dessert rations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta and to my KTC girls for really cheering me up out of a slump. Anyways, this is one of my favorite chapters. I love young Abby and Marcus, and I hope you all do too!

_She was eighteen, she had her whole life ahead of her._

_Being born on Alpha station, the daughter of a doctor and an educator, came with its fair share of benefits. She was all but guaranteed a high-up apprenticeship if she wanted it, followed by job security, respect from her peers, and maybe even a leadership role. She knew what she had and she was grateful for every opportunity that had been presented to her since she was a young child._

_She was eighteen, she had her whole life ahead of her._

_Abby sat in the mess hall with her head in her hands. She’d just finished up a fifteen hour rotation. Her apprenticeship was so exhausting. She spent nearly the entire day on her feet, with barely any time to eat_ _as she treated sick and wounded, learned about vaccination development and contraceptive implants, assisted with surgeries, shadowed_ _the doctor on his rounds, and worst of all, been forced to conclude her day with the tedious task of charting. And more charting._

_But she was eighteen, and she had her whole damn life ahead of her..._

_She felt the the bench bow beside her as someone sat down, causing her to jump. Tiredly, she lifted her hands away from her face and looked up._

_“Hey.”_

_Marcus Kane? The boy who moved to Alpha for his last year of school in order to join the guard? The one who always used to sit, brooding in the back of the room during the two classes she shared with him, avoiding everyone and everything?_

_“Hey,” she replied in surprise, trying to figure out if she’d fallen asleep or just lost track of time, because it felt like she was living in the past, before her apprenticeship and his training, when they had shared their lunch hour together after Earth Skills._

_“You look like you’ve had a hell of a day,” he murmured, eating his potatoes as he studied her._

_“Yeah,” she said through a weary smile, staring down at her half-eaten tray and poking at her now cold vegetables with her fork._

_“Peas are gross. Want mine?” he offered._

_“No… thanks.” She bit her lip and glanced over at him, trying to recall if he'd ever been this conversational. Maybe the guard was bringing him out of his shell._

_He looked nice in his uniform, maybe even handsome. It fit him well. Had he filled out in the last few months, or was it just her imagination? He used to be so lanky, his arms and legs all awkwardly long for his body, with painful looking patches of blemishes and too-long hair covering his face. That definitely wasn't_ _the case anymore. He sat there well-groomed, hair slicked back, face mostly clear aside from a few deep scars, and a confidence to him she'd never seen before._

_“Sorry, it’s just been a long day,” she finally whispered._

_“Yeah, you’re here late. Usually it’s just me and some of the other cadets.”_

_“Well, treating sick people doesn’t have a nice, set schedule like working security does,” she said with a smirk._

_He smiled and shoved his protein ration into his mouth, chewing slowly, and she could feel him watching her as she continued to move food around on her plate with no intention of actually eating it._

_“You shouldn’t play with your food,” he teased._

_She snorted and reached for her water._

_“Gonna throw me in Lockup?”_

_“I could.”_

_“Yeah, you go ahead and try.”_

_They grinned at each other and she sipped her water while he finished his meal. He wordlessly passed her his uneaten dessert ration, and she smiled in surprise, suddenly feeling a little better. Chocolate cake was her favorite._

_“Thanks.”_

_“Anytime.”_

_They sat in mostly comfortable silence for a while, but as she nibbled on her dessert, worry and self-doubt gradually pooled into her thoughts again._

_“So, just a long day? Nothing bothering you?” he ventured._

_That’s right. Marcus had always been_ _one of_ ** _those_** _\--freakishly intuitive but rarely letting on. It was an alarming combination, and it spooked her. She hesitated, wondering if it was even appropriate to be discussing her fears about the future with him like this, but he was offering..._

_“I just--I sometimes wonder if I’m on the right path, or if I’m only doing this because it’s what I’m expected to do.”_

_“You mean, your parents forced you into medicine?”_

_“Forced is a strong word,” she answered, shaking her head. “They just have high expectations for me and my future."_

_“So,” he asked, tearing off a piece of his roll, “you don’t_ **_want_ ** _to be a doctor?”_

_“I didn’t say that. It’s… complicated.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“It’s just so hard. Sometimes I work sixteen, seventeen hour days where I barely get a chance to feed myself, and the worst part is, I don’t even feel like I’m making a difference because there’s so much information being thrown at me all at once.” She sighed, staring down at her tray. “I talked to my dad and he just keeps telling me, ‘You’re eighteen, you have your entire life ahead of you’, like it’s supposed to be comforting.”_

_He snorted. “That’s about as comforting as a shock lashing.”_

_“Tell me about it,” she said through a laugh, but her expression remained serious._

_He hesitated for a long moment, and she wondered if she was putting too much on him. It was late, after all. Really late. And he was probably just as exhausted as she was. It had also been ages since they’d shared a friendly conversation, and never one of this weight. But just as dread and panic began to set in, he finally answered, and she exhaled in relief._

_“I don’t know if this is the 'right path' or whatever, but from what I know about you, you’re kind and compassionate, smart, hard-working, and it seems like you really want to help people.” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “To me, that means you’ll make a good doctor. Maybe you just need to ride this out so you can get to the good parts.”_

_She melted a little, smiling with a heavy mixture of surprise and gratitude. He didn't only look different, but he seemed wiser now, more mature. He'd clearly come a long way from the brooding boy in the back of the class last year._

_“That’s really sweet. Thank you, Marcus.”_

_He shrugged and looked down almost shyly, long fingers splayed over the table top in front of his tray, drumming them with nervous energy._

_She glanced at the clock._

_“I should really try to get some sleep. Another long day tomorrow. But… thank you. You really helped.”_

_“Don’t mention it. Night, Abby,” he murmured with a faint smile, before standing and gathering up both of their trays._

_“Good night,” she said quietly, watching him walk out of the mess hall with a few of his guard buddies._

_She was eighteen, she had her whole life ahead of her._

_* *_

_Abby wasn’t sure when it became a routine, but they began meeting there every night after their late shifts. The mess hall was like a ghost town, and they found quiet solace in light conversation and eating (or not eating) their meals together in the low, cool-toned lights, dimmed for sleep cycle, surrounded by the wafting smell of hot water and detergent from the next room. He’d tease her and she’d tease him back, which always seemed to pleasantly surprise him, judging by the way his cheeks would turn pink and he'd grin down at his food. She’d ask him about his guard training, and he’d inquire about her apprenticeship. It was easy. It was comforting. It was something she grew to look forward to. And every night, he’d slip her his dessert ration like it was something he’d always done._

_It was nearing curfew, and she was sitting on her chair with her knee drawn up under her chin, the other dangling over the edge of her seat, listening as he unburdened himself about his mother’s religious sect, and how he’d gone from eager_ _altar boy to near-atheist in just a couple of years. It plagued him, his limbo between reality and spirituality, and she could practically feel guilt rising off of him like steam from the dish room._

_Marcus Kane, the spiritualist. She would have never guessed._

_“Hey,” she offered gently, reaching between them to rest a hand on his. “Why don’t you go visit your mom on your next day off? I’m sure she’d like that. She’s probably better at giving spiritual counseling anyways. I clearly suck at this.”_

_He gave her a tired smile and sighed, rubbing his face._

_“Thanks, Abby. Maybe I should.”_

_The five minute lights-out warning for their sector erupted throughout the station, and she released his hand. They returned to their respective quarters--hers, a sizeable living space that she shared with her parents with her own individual sleeping alcove, and his, a shared bunk room, crowded by a dozen or so other young guardsmen._

_Eventually her apprenticeship came to an end, and he finished his training with the guard. She became a doctor, and he became an officer. Her schedule was always a bit hectic and unpredictable, but after late nights spent in medical, she’d still visit the mess hall, optimistically scanning the few people staggered in the otherwise abandoned room. With his patrols beginning at ungodly hours of the morning, it was no wonder she never found him there again. He was probably fast asleep before she even finished work._

_They still crossed paths in the halls, and even made a point to catch up on rare days off, if they ever overlapped, but she quickly became wrapped up in her engagement to Jake Griffin, and Marcus seemed less and less interested in trying to make time for her._

_It hurt._

_But to her utter surprise, at her and Jake’s small ceremony on the Alpha starboard viewing deck that May, she scanned the people in attendance and saw Marcus there, with his mother sitting next to him as his Plus One. He was wearing his formal guard uniform, sitting at attention, and watching with a neutral expression the entire time._

_After the ceremony, she found him staring out the window, watching Earth like it was a place he hoped_ _to personally settle some day, against all odds, just like they’d talked about during their dozens of mess hall chats that she was missing more than ever._

 _“Hey,” she said, touching his elbow. It seemed to startle him, because he jerked slightly and turned towards her, lips curling into a faint, careless_ _smile. He appeared to be avoiding looking directly at her, and when she did manage to catch his eye, she was met by a formalism that felt unfamiliar and cold between them, a newly formed chasm._

_“I just wanted to say congratulations, Doctor.”_

_Doctor?_

_“Oh, thank you.” She frowned and stepped closer, reaching for his hand, but he immediately drew away from her._

_“I need to get going,” he murmured, as if just this short amount of conversation was detaining him. “I, uh, picked up a Noc shift which starts in a few minutes.”_

_She furrowed her brow, confused smile slipping into dejection._

_“Yeah, of course. It was… it was so good to see you. Can we set up a lunch date soon, or maybe a really, really late supper for old time's sake?” she asked hopefully._

_His eyes widened briefly, leaving her to wonder what she had said, and he cleared his throat and looked down, his lips tightly pursed._

_“It’s just so busy, Abby. I’m--I’m sorry. But congratulations. You and Jake were meant to be.”_

_He offered her what she thought was an attempted smile, but there was something akin to pain in his eyes. A contradiction. She wasn’t sure what it was. But before she could ponder it further, he pushed past her and made his way through the small crowd and towards the exit. She frowned after him, feeling like she’d just lost a friend._

_Jake came up alongside her_ _and wrapped his arm around her waist, following her gaze to the door._

_“Was that Marcus Kane? From school?” he asked in mild surprise._

_“No,” she answered quietly, an ache forming in her chest. She pushed it away, stubbornly planning never to revisit it again. She had her career and her family to focus on now. “Let’s dance?”_

_Jake looked at her in bemusement, leaning down to kiss her temple. He offered his hands, led her away, and they shared their first dance as husband and wife, bodies swaying closely as the newly formed chasm between her and Marcus Kane began what would be its two decade long growth._

* * * *

Thelonious stared at the papers in front of him for so long that Abby was beginning to panic. Her heart rate increased, she started to sweat, and she balled her hands tightly together so they wouldn’t visibly tremble. He was her friend, Thelonious, for nearly fourteen years, but he was downright terrifying at times, so tall, self-assured, and equitable, even as he sat in his desk chair.

Finally, he looked up, glancing between her and Marcus with a resigned and somewhat exasperated look on his face.

Did he _know_? He must have suspected something. Councilors Kane and Griffin, requesting a last-minute marriage and contraceptive implant removal. There were only two ways this could look, and she hoped for the lesser of two evils.

Was it so hard to believe that she turned to one of her oldest friends for comfort in the wake of her husband’s death?

 _Friend_?

No, not even Jaha could believe something that absurd.

To her amazement however, he clenched his jaw, picked up a pen, and signed his name on both of the forms. Wordlessly, he notarized them and passed them back to Kane, who nodded, placed them in a folder, glanced at Abby, and headed for the door, like this charade was a practiced routine of his. She hesitated, eyes on Thelonious. He was protective of his friends and family, and he was always willing to listen to reason, but he also wasn’t one to casually look the other way when it came to matters of the law.

Then again, neither was Marcus, and look where they were.

But Thelonious’ no-nonsense, albeit head-on, strict approach was what had gotten him elected as Chancellor. It was something that she admired about him, and what led her to vote for him in the first place. She wondered now if it was going to violently come back to bite her in the ass.

“Will you two be requesting different living arrangements?” Thelonious asked, his voice causing her to twitch. It had been silent for minutes as they faced his quiet judgement.

She glanced at Marcus. How the hell was he so _calm_?

“I…”

“We haven’t decided,” Marcus quickly interjected. “But we’ll have the appropriate paperwork in to you by tomorrow morning. Let’s go, Abby...”

He touched his fingers to her elbow and gently guided her outside of Jaha’s office. She was grateful, or at least she would have been if she wasn’t floating somewhere outside her body right now, because her heart was ringing anxiously in her ears, her stomach lurched with nausea, and she walked mindlessly down the corridor with rapidly growing tunnel vision, officially _Mrs. Abigail Kane_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On moving day, as Marcus helped her pack, Abby was crudely reminded that the life she shared with her husband and daughter was being reduced down to three piles of keep, store, and throw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kat for the beta and to Joana for insights into her baby Callie. I wasn't going to post this until Tuesday, but y'all are needy and I love you. ;)

“What about this?”

His voice startled her, drawing her unwillingly out of her daydream where she would have been more than content to stay. She was remembering Clarke as a little girl, learning to walk in the very space they now occupied, cluttered with piles of miscellaneous items and storage boxes. She had been such a pensive child, quick to smile but always so introspective.

“Abby?”

She looked up at him and blinked a few times, shaking herself. Marcus was in front of her, sleeves rolled up and hair uncharacteristically just this side of disorderly, dangling a set of frayed wires cautiously between two fingers like they might shock him. Did he not realize they were dead?

“Garbage,” she replied, continuing to sort through some papers.

He nodded and carefully tossed them into a pile of other disposables, and she was painfully reminded that the meaningful life she had shared here with her daughter and her husband was now being crudely reduced down to three piles of keep, store, and throw.

She watched over tops of papers as he grimaced and reluctantly sat in front of a pile of clothes, as if just the thought of having to deal with such disorganization made his skin crawl. It probably did. He began meticulously folding each article, separating them into sub-piles based on category.

She rolled her eyes.

"For God’s sake, Marcus, they're all going into the same box anyway!"

He looked like he was ready to snap back, but continuing on in his newly adapted but highly disturbing fashion, he sighed and lapsed into silence instead, obediently setting the neatly-folded but unsorted clothes into an allocated storage container labeled: Clarke.

She knew that he questioned her decision to hang onto her daughter’s belongings, whether or not he said it aloud, because in less than a year, Clarke would be turning eighteen and her case would be up for review. The truth was, even a seventeen year old convicted of treason had slim chances after becoming an adult, but Abby refused to think about that; she would do anything it took to ensure her daughter’s survival, and when she did, Clarke was going to need her things.

Oh god, Abby realized. Clarke would be seeing her forty year old mother very pregnant and married to Marcus Kane, and her potential, all equally spirited, protective reactions made Abby's insides churn with dread and just the slightest dash of amusement. Clarke took after her mother, and the mental image of her teenage daughter socking Marcus Kane wasn't the worst thing she'd envisioned today. She might even beat her to it.  

“You okay?” he asked quietly, glancing up from the books he was now packing.

She realized she’d been sitting there again, lost in thought, probably looking dazed and a little idiotic with a paper half-lifted to her face to study as her eyes remained stations away.

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie, of course, but she wasn’t about to tell him that, these days, she willingly allowed herself to spend more time wading through memories than she did grounded in this painful reality. So she rolled up her own sleeves and continued sorting through the papers, tossing some into a pile of recyclables and putting the rest in a folder of things to keep. Amongst the ones she chose to hold onto were a few of Clarke’s drawings, some photographs, a few important documents she retained hard copies of, as well one or two other items of sentimental value, like a stupid poem Jake had written for her when she was seventeen, asking her to go to the masquerade dance with him.

> _Abby, you see_
> 
> _You are so very pretty_
> 
> _I would like to take you to this dance_
> 
> _Where we can ~~dance~~ prance _
> 
> _So grab your mask and if you might_
> 
> _Join me tomorrow night_

It had terrible syntax and meter, not to mention he had waited until the day before to invite her. Idiot. Her lovable idiot. She missed him so damn much.

She realized Marcus was scrutinizing her again, so she did what she excelled at after countless years of practice and ignored him, moving to sort through a few more items but leaving Jake’s clothes for last. As if sensing that she needed to do that part alone, he offered to run her disposables and recyclables down to sanitation, and she nodded and gratefully settled down on the floor to face the dreaded task. Even she knew it was unfair to hold onto clothing that someone else needed more than a grieving widow did.

Collecting herself, she sorted through the articles and allowed herself to keep only one item, a blue t-shirt Jake had slept in almost every night (and she had slept in the rare nights he hadn’t). She brought it to her face and inhaled, which was a terrible, terrible idea. If she had any semblance of strength remaining, it rapidly toppled and left the wind knocked out of her, tears flowing from her eyes as if being suctioned.

Marcus returned to find her half-collapsed, sobbing into the shirt, the smell of Jake lingering more powerfully than she realized was possible after these weeks without him.  

He hesitated by the door. It was clear he had no idea what his place was in all of this.

She had no idea what his place was in all of this.

He seemed to deliberate, finally gathering up the rest of her storage containers and carrying them out of the room, leaving her with what little dignity she had left.

She looked around through bloodshot eyes, stinging with salty tears and sleepless nights. Sitting on the floor in the middle of the now empty room, she clutched Jake’s shirt to her heart and realized this was her final goodbye--this was the last time she would let herself mourn, because after today, she needed to focus on the safety of her children.

She wiped her puffy face, sniffing, and stood up on trembling legs with the remainder of her possessions in tow. Aside from his blue shirt, she closed the door and left Jake behind in the empty room.

* *

Marcus’ quarters were _tiny_ , especially for two, but there wasn’t ever the slightest possibility they were going to live in her much larger ones; she couldn’t imagine inviting him into the space she’d occupied with her husband for nearly two decades, where they’d raised their daughter and shared so many milestones together as a family. It felt like the ultimate betrayal, and thankfully, it wasn’t something he had even suggested.

She stood, physically and emotionally spent, staring at the small bed at the back of the room as Marcus did his best to accommodate her essential items in the already limited space.

“I’ll take the floor,” he offered, following her gaze to the bunk.

Maybe it was inconsiderate of her, but she _was_ pregnant and there was no way in hell she was sleeping in the same bed as Marcus Kane, so for once, she didn’t argue.

“I, uh… I put out an extra towel. Let me know if you need anything else.”

She smiled weakly, grabbing her pajamas and toiletries and heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed. It was awkward to even find a place for her toothbrush, and looking at his small medicine cabinet with his own toothbrush, razor, shaving cream, and comb, she was struck by just how much of a bachelor he really was, leaving no room in his life for anyone else amongst the few things he owned.

She washed up and changed into the blue t-shirt, far too large for her petite frame, and a pair of black shorts, hesitating in the door for several moments before she finally made her way towards the bed.

They’d seen each other in casual clothes before, only when they’d pass during their runs around the station, but this felt different, intentional, vulnerable.  

She focused on him. He was sitting at his desk with his data pad, tapping away at whatever urgent matter had taken precedence over what was probably one of his few moments of downtime. He stood, eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Make yourself at home,” he murmured, gaze politely averted, as if he could sense her vulnerability. “I’ve got to take care of some business.”

It was almost a relief, really, and she half-wondered if he actually had any business at all, or if this was just his way of giving her privacy.

She absently nodded and sat on the edge of the bed, watching him slide into his boots and guard jacket, attach his baton to his belt, and head out of the room. She brought her hands to her necklace and carefully pulled it over her head, mindful not to get the chain tangled in her hair after many painful attempts in recent weeks. Looking around, she hesitated and hung it up in the window above his bed. It wasn’t a permanent home, but it would do for now, and she liked the way the ambient light caught the metal as it swayed back and forth under the gentle hum of the ship’s life systems.

She peeled back the covers, slowly slid under, and drew them up. It was strange being surrounded by his scent. She knew what he smelled like, of course, after knowing the man for so many years, but only from traces she’d caught in passing. Being surrounded by it was familiar but also new and strange and a little overwhelming, so much more intense than the whiffs she’d experienced while he walked by or leaned over her in the past.

There were hints of detergent from laundry, the powdery traces of soap and shaving cream, leather from his armor, and something drifting just underneath all of that, something unique to him.

Somehow, she didn’t hate it.

She closed her eyes and tried to rest, and maybe managed for a while, but she heard the door slide open when he returned, and the quiet shuffle as he undressed, moved into the head to brush his teeth and shave, laid a bedroll on the ground, and curled up next to his desk. She found herself extremely self-aware. Did she snore? Did _he_ snore? Was she breathing too loudly? Why did she suddenly have to swallow again and again? Did she make too much noise when she rolled over? It occurred all at once to her that she had never shared sleeping quarters with anyone other than Jake, Clarke, and Callie. And Jackson upon occasion, when they both took cots in medical during emergencies, but they were usually too exhausted and focused on getting in as much sleep as they could within a short amount of time, that insecurities were the last thing on their minds.

She finally drifted off again, lulled by the steady but unfamiliar sound of his breathing as he relaxed into his own slumber, as well as the quiet voice of the Ark’s systems that she knew so well, even though it managed to sound slightly different than the way it did in her quarters.  

She dreamt of Clarke.

* *

The morning managed to be more awkward than the previous night. He woke obnoxiously early to engage in his meticulous routine that she suspected he abided by every day with devotion. Probably down to the damn second. She tossed and turned, stirred by the incessant tap of his razor against the sink after each long sweep of the blade over his face. It was so consistent, she could practically find a song in the rhythm. His dance next took him to the floor by his desk for his workout, and she could hear him counting quietly through the reps and his heavy breathing, the exercises not enough to make him perspire, but presumably just enough to get his blood flowing for the day.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, causing him to jump and stare up at her, halfway through a push-up.

“Abby?” he breathed.

The warning sound of an incorrect code at door interrupted her, followed by a quiet knock. What was it, barely past 0500? Who the hell else on this station was as disgustingly early of a riser as he was, and trying to get into his _quarters_?

Marcus froze for a moment, then silently pushed himself into a crouch and stared at the door, unmoving, considering. Something had him spooked. Did he know who it was? Just when she was about to ask whether or not he was going to answer sometime this century, he jerked to his feet and opened the door part way, his frame blocking the inside of his quarters from whomever was standing outside. And her from seeing who it was.

There were a few quiet murmurs exchanged, including a firm but hushed “not today” from Marcus. Abby listened and watched the broad expanse of his back through his t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he lifted an arm to further obstruct the entryway, wondering who could possibly be on the other side. But she didn’t have to wonder for much longer, because the mystery voice became more than a murmur, and blood drained from her extremities, replaced with panic and more than a little guilt.

It was Callie.

Her best friend, Callie. The same Callie who she was rapidly remembering sometimes slept with Marcus Kane, despite Abby's disapproval throughout the years. Apparently Wednesday mornings were one of their set ‘meeting’ times, because Abby heard her let out an annoyed, confused huff, followed by "What's gotten into you? Are you _with_ someone?", and when he refused to budge or even answer, her brisk retreat.

He shut the door and immediately went back to his workout on the floor, dropping his weight onto his palms and toes as if nothing had happened, but there was a hint of conflict behind those hard to read eyes. He grunted and quickened his pace, and she watched as sweat started to pool along his brow.

“What did you tell her?” she whispered, knuckles white as she anxiously clutched at the blanket.

“That it wasn’t a good time. I’ll talk to her later, end things.” He nodded, as if to convince himself.

“End things just like that? She’ll be hurt. What are you going to say?”

“That I no longer require her company.”

“Romantic!”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

He was breathing heavier now from exertion, but continued his push-ups.

Somehow, in all of this mess, it appeared neither of them stopped to think about a major piece in this chess game that could become a problem if they let it, growing wilder, more powerful, and more unpredictable with each carefully woven lie it was told. Callie, a player connected to both of them, who was too smart to accept distractions and misdirections for answers, and more likely to see through their lies than anyone else on the station.

“We need to talk about this,” she insisted. “She’s going to have questions, and we can’t avoid her forever. She's my best friend, Marcus."

He made an annoyed noise, like she was a nuisance for interrupting his routine.

“I have to go,” he blurted out, jumping up and sliding into his bulky, black boots, pausing long enough to lace them into perfectly double-knotted bows before he reached for his guard jacket.

She sat there, head and shoulders slumping forward, legs hanging over the edge of the bunk, and she thought back to last night. And despite the gravity of the situation, as she listened to him leave, there was only one pressing question on her mind.

What the hell kind of a person shaved both in the morning _and_ at night?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning sickness, marital bliss, and a myriad of memories. Callie confronts Abby, and Marcus makes a kind gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Kat_Rowe for the beta, and to Veridissima for helping me find Callie's voice. This chapter was a labor of love. Difficult at the onset, but eventually grew into a beast. Sorry it's so long!

Abby had been avoiding Callie for days.

The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell her everything, it was that she _wanted_ _to tell her everything_ , and of course, Marcus was refusing to budge, especially when it came to Callie. The list of individuals in the know was limited to Jackson, and they hadn’t even told him yet. But she had been Abby’s best friend since childhood, and from intimate details about their love lives to their fears and desires, they had always known everything about each other for as long as she could remember.

Aside from the minor detail of her illegal baby with Jake and her sham marriage to Marcus Kane.

She had worried, given Callie and Marcus’ complicated history, that her best friend’s immediate reaction would be unrealized jealousy hiding behind indignancy. She’d always surmised that Callie had real feelings for the man, even if they weren’t the typical romantic kind, and even if Abby couldn’t figure out _why in hell_ anyone would develop feelings for Marcus Kane of all people. But Callie had confided in her about his firm boundaries inside their casual relationship over the years, and it was obvious by his terms that the man didn’t reciprocate whatever Callie’s feelings were. He was a stone-cold shell of skin and bones, with no heart or soul to speak of (who just happened to be a human male who needed to get his rocks off like the rest of them).

Wasn’t he?

There was so much unexpected about him. Abby was stuck to a pressurized surface somewhere in her mind, weighted down wondering if he actually did have a few ounces of sentiment underneath his cool, hard exterior, or if it was all just an incomprehensible act. She had no idea what his motives in any of this were, and it was downright unnerving.

She’d withdrawn from Callie for the meantime. Knowing someone so well made it easy to avoid them, Abby had quickly realized. She’d stay away from the mess hall at Callie’s usual mealtimes, take different routes to Go-Sci in the morning and on the way home, and send all of her communications through Jackson. She would tell her she married Marcus Kane when the timing was right. The lying and waiting were shoving her straight into a pit of guilt and regret, but right now she needed to focus on actively being wherever Callie was not.

Finally, it seemed she could avoid her no longer.

Abby was making her way out of medical when Callie stormed down the hallway, a woman on a mission, just like she was whenever she had her mind set on something. She and Abby were so similar in that way. They could both be compliant, courteous, calm, collected, or they could be feminine forces of fire, laying a path of destruction whenever anyone threatened the ones they loved. It was an enabling friendship at times, but they’d made it work for nearly twenty-seven years with minimal collateral damage and broken bones.

And here was her Callie, bound and determined, coming for her, eyes dark and expression irate. Being on the wrong end of that temper was actually frightening.

“Abigail _Kane_?” she shouted, quickly closing the distance between them.

Abby’s heart sank and her palms grew downright sweaty. _She knew_. How did she know? After Marcus' random divergence from routine the previous morning, Callie must have done a little digging to figure out what had him acting so damned odd. How many times had he stood her up in the past? He was a man of discipline, but it was hard to picture him turning down sex with a beautiful woman when she showed up at his doorstep. 

Callie was clearly resourceful, and it was time to focus on damage control.

“Cal, wait, let’s take this somewhere private--”

People were staring.

“You and Marcus got _married_?”

“Callie,” she pleaded with her, grabbing her by the arms and trying to tug her into medical so they could at least talk in private.

“What does he have on you? Is the son of a bitch _blackmailing_ you?”

Abby sighed and forcefully drew her into her office, quickly shutting the door behind them. History with Kane or not, it was almost touching that Callie’s first priority was Abby’s well-being. Even Callie recognized his ruthlessness despite having seen glimpses of the man underneath it all, the one Abby was only beginning to uncover.

“Callie, listen to me.”

“Oh, I’ll listen. And then I’m gonna float him!" she threatened.

"It's _Kane_. He's too straightforward for blackmail,” Abby said calmly, hands sliding up and down the top of Callie’s arms, trying to soothe her and convince her all at once. Callie almost looked relieved by her answer, but it clearly didn’t work to ease her confusion one bit. Not that she blamed her.

“Then you expect me to believe you married _Marcus Kane_ of your own free will? You've despised the man for _years_. And, Abby, so soon after Jake?” her insightful friend added, knowing that was most out of character about this whole situation.

“I’m sorry.” It was the truth. She didn’t want to lie to her best friend, and the implication that she’d immediately fallen into another man’s bed after losing Jake had her sick to her stomach. “I wanted to tell you, but everything happened so quickly. Are you angry with us? Jealous?” she added quietly, biting her lower lip.

“Jealous?” Callie asked in surprise, letting out an exasperated laugh. “Of course not! Abby, you know it’s not like that between us. We care for each other, but there’s always been other women. But… this is beyond Marcus and I. So you better tell me what the hell is going on, because it feels like one of us has gone crazy!”

Abby sighed and kept rubbing her arms, eyes fluttering shut. Moments of silence passed as she debated whether to tell her any portion of the truth. But this was Callie, and she was never going to accept evasive answers, so she had to say _something_.

Marcus was going to kill her when she got home.

“Cal, I’m pregnant.”

Callie paused for a long moment, staring at her with searching eyes before bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, a quiet gasp escaping her.

“But you can’t tell anyone,” Abby continued. “No one knows yet. Thelonious probably suspects after our last-minute marriage request, but we’re not going public with it until I start to show.”

“You’re…” The words fell unspoken from Callie’s mouth. “It’s his? Marcus’?” she whispered, eyes wide and jaw unhinged.

Abby looked down again, unable to tell a straight lie to the woman who knew her better than anyone, the first woman to know about her engagement to Jake, the first person she told after finding out she was pregnant with Clarke, the woman who stood beside her on her wedding day as she recited her vows to Jake, the woman she’d cried with so many times over the years through sorrow and triumphs. So she nodded a couple of times, swallowing hard because it’s all she could manage, before looking up and watching as Callie’s shock morphed into a mixture of sadness and maybe disappointment.

She hated the idea that Callie might be disappointed in her.

“Abby, you slept with Marcus after Jake died?” Callie paused, tone quickly changing as her cheeks grew red. “Wait, he slept with _you_ while you were grieving? I really am gonna kill that bastard,” she muttered.

“Cal,” she pleaded again, clinging to her arms now. “I was lonely, and things just sort of happened. It’s not his fault.”

“Oh, Abs,” she breathed, suddenly wrapping her arms around her and drawing her into a tight hug, just like she had the day she found out about her first pregnancy seventeen years ago. “Darling, I had no idea.”

“You couldn’t have. I’ve been avoiding you for a reason.”

“Yeah, but you’re my _best friend_. I should have figured it out the moment you started acting weird. Also, your skin looks totally different when you’re pregnant.”

“Are you saying I’m glowing?” Abby teased, smiling weakly into her shoulder. She rubbed her back and buried a hand in Callie’s silky, black hair, comforted by her familiar presence.

Callie straightened and observed her, eyes wandering over her face.

“You are. Pregnancy suits you,” she answered honestly with a firm nod.

Abby smiled weakly, parts of her wishing this could all be under different circumstances. She missed the joy, the happy tears, the _excitement_ from telling Callie about her pregnancy with Clarke. She reached inside of herself, trying to search beyond the dread for any semblance of that.

“You’ve always known me so well. It’s kinda ridiculous,” Abby noted, smiling a bit fondly at the happy memories. “I’m pretty sure you were the one who figured out I was pregnant the first time.”

“Of course I did. You suddenly hated carrots, and your skin had never looked so beautiful in your life,” Callie answered with a grin, before growing serious. “Hey, promise me,” she continued, drawing back further from the hug and staring at her with determination, “you won’t ever keep something like this from me again. I’ve been giving you your space, because I thought it’s what you needed after Jake, but no more. You have to let me in.”

“I promise,” Abby whispered. “I’ll tell you everything soon.”

Well, almost everything. The biggest secret of her life still settled like a void between them and left her uneasy, gnawing and bubbling inside her stomach.

“ _Especially_ when it’s as good as you sleeping with Marcus! You have to give me all the details! You know, Jake and I used to place bets in school on whether or not you two would kiss.”

Kiss? She wondered who bet what, because one of them would still be banking.

They laughed together, and for the moment, it eased Abby’s guilt.

* *

“You did _what_?” he snapped, staring at her incredulously, face furiously twisted. She could practically feel him ready to boil over, a watched pot.

“I was in an impossible position, Marcus,” she said, hands on her hips. “She confronted me in public, _loudly_. People were staring!”

“How much does she know?”

“Just that I’m pregnant. She thinks it’s yours, and that we had an emergency marriage to cover it up. It’s not the worst story! You should be glad I thought on my feet, considering how tightly under wraps you’ve been keeping this whole thing.”

He stalked towards her, and for a moment, fear shot to her extremities and she took a step back. His face was flushed with anger, veins bulging on his forehead, teeth clenched into a snarl. She’d seen him like this before, but it wasn’t usually so _personal_. He grabbed her by the sides of the shoulders, skin stinging where his fingers dug in.

“I am ‘ _keeping this under wraps_ ’ so you and your child don’t get _floated_!” he spat, panting and glaring down at her with all the vexation and resentment he must have been holding onto since he started his little act of being charitable.

“You don’t think I know that?!” she snapped right back, staring up at him defiantly. “Callie is my best friend, not to mention _your_ lover. It was always going to be impossible to keep her out of this. I tried to tell you that! There’s only so many places you can hide from someone who lives and works on the same station as you, Marcus!”

Making a disgusted noise, his face flushed as he let her go and started pacing the quarters, anger merging with something frantic. Watching him made her anxious and nauseous.

“We just… we have to be careful,” he said quietly, voice wavering as he visibly struggled to control himself, quelling his emotions like he always did. It was annoying how good he was at that. “Too many people know, and they’ll start to connect the dots. We can’t afford to draw any extra attention to ourselves. We’re under too much scrutiny already.”

Abby hesitated, remembering what Callie had said.

“She asked if you were blackmailing me, if you had something on me. Is… that what people will think?”

He didn’t answer, still pacing.

She frowned. “Marcus.”

“It doesn’t matter what people think,” he said dismissively, waving his hand before rubbing it over his face.

“I just didn’t realize that was going to be an outcome.”

“Of course it was, Abby. Why else would you marry me a month after I gave the order for your husband to be floated and had your daughter sent to Lockup?” he asked, sighing and running his hands through his hair, actually mussing it a little. She flinched. “But it doesn’t matter. They can think what they want.”

For some reason, it made her uncomfortable. Sure, she’d spent years and years convinced he was an asshole, but this felt different. She felt oddly protective of his reputation. She could tolerate people thinking the worst about her ( _that slut, husband barely out of the airlock and she’s already onto her next_ ), but after all Marcus had done for her, whatever his motivations, the idea of everyone hating him made her skin crawl. Only she was allowed to do that.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shrugging helplessly, “but I didn’t know what else to do. She backed me into a corner and we hadn’t discussed what we were going to say. I had to think fast.”

“I know,” he said, sinking into his desk chair defeated. “It’s okay. You did well under the circumstances.”

He wasn’t pacing angrily anymore, so she wasn’t sure why her nausea was worsening. The moment it dawned on her, however, with ringing ears and clammy, paling skin, she was already racing for the head, barely managing to get to the toilet in time to empty her stomach contents. Violently. And he was right behind, leaning over her and drawing her hair out of her face. Marcus Kane, holding her hair while she puked; that was something she never expected to happen in her lifetime. If she didn’t have her head buried in the toilet and vomit coming out of her nose, she might have considered it sweet.

“Oh god,” she panted weakly, reaching up to flush once she was finished.

“Shhh.” He stroked her hair, tying it off into a bun and moving to the sink to pour her a glass of water.

“I forgot how sick I got with Clarke. Oh, this is not good,” she groaned, gratefully rinsing out her mouth before blowing her burning nose.

“I shouldn’t have upset you like that, I’m sorry,” he murmured, staring down with what looked an awful lot like guilt.

What was that, the third time he’d apologized to her today? A guilty, apologetic Marcus Kane? This was going to take some getting used to. The universe felt a little unbalanced. Or maybe it was just the vertigo from puking her guts out.

“It’s not your fault, Marcus, it’s hormones.”

She tentatively sipped the water, but found the coolness a relief to her boiling, unsettled stomach.

“I think it’s time to bring Jackson in on this,” he said, watching her thoughtfully. “He’s going to be a vital player, especially with your symptoms beginning to show.”

She nodded weakly and watched as he wrung out a cool, wet cloth and handed it to her. Gratefully, she wiped her face and closed her eyes once finished, head falling back against the wall. Everything was spinning, and not from the centripetal gravity.

The next few weeks were going to be fun. A total blast. She was having flashbacks of her previous pregnancy, not being able to hold anything down to the point of Jake forcing hospitalization for a couple nights. Clarke was the best thing to have ever happened to her, but carrying her for those first several months had been rough.

Once confident she wasn’t going to throw up again, she shakily moved to stand, surprised when he met her halfway and drew her to her feet with strong hands on her sides. She smiled weakly and stood over the sink, brushing her teeth and rinsing the sour taste of sick from her mouth while he waited patiently by her side, as if ready to catch her if her shaking limbs betrayed her. When she finished, he took her arm and gently led her towards the bed, turning down the covers and helping her under. His kindness was unsettling, and she almost preferred his outburst earlier; at least it was familiar.

He laid the cool cloth over her forehead and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling weakly down at her. Did he actually look worried?

She sighed and glanced up at the window, immediately frowning. Jake’s ring was gone. Panic crept up inside her. Had it fallen into the vent? Had she misplaced it? Had Marcus taken it?

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said suddenly, standing and hurrying over to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out the necklace, presenting it to her. “I put it on a longer chain so you can still wear it during the day without people seeing."

She wrapped her hand around the cold metal and stared at it for a long moment, then up at him, studying his face but finding nothing to indicate what had prompted such a kind gesture.

“Thank you,” she whispered in surprise, clutching the necklace to her chest.

Not answering, he left her to rest, and as she listened to his heavy boots fade down the corridor outside, she turned Marcus Kane over in her mind. He was such a walking contradiction, drifting somewhere between two extremes, and bringing gray areas she never thought could exist to the surface. She wondered if those parts had always lurked, so well-hidden under his deliberately manicured persona, everyone seeing exactly what he wanted them to see. It perplexed her.

Where did the antagonist she’d known for years and this newly emerging, far more sympathetic man meet?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby confides in Jackson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while to update, but HERE'S TWO CHAPTERS! :) Thanks, as always, to Kat_Rowe for the beta.

_It was her least favorite time of year. It wasn’t that she didn’t see the value of apprenticeships, since she, herself, had worked so hard at her own, but having someone following her around, breathing down her neck, asking questions and taking notes while she was in the middle of surgery or consulting with a patient was beyond annoying. She barely had time to get all of her own work done, and now she was expected to train someone new?_

_She looked at the new recruit. God, he was green. Was she that bad when she first started? She couldn’t have been. The way he stared at her was a cross between 'adoring puppy' and 'love-sick child'. This was not how she was used to young men looking at her, but maybe it was the lesser of two evils. The last thing she needed was a hand on her ass while she was trying to perform open heart surgery, even if Jake seemed to get a good laugh out of hearing those stories about past interns, the loveable_ _bastard._

_“Hi, I’m Doctor Griffin.” She smiled tightly._

_“Oh, I know who you are, Doctor Griffin. I’m a big fan of your work. Eric Jackson. I hope I can make you proud,” he said shyly, voice barely audible as he rambled. He extended his hand. Was he actually trembling? Was it anxiety or the excitement of an eager puppy?_

_She gave it a brief but firm shake and looked distractedly around her messy desk for his paperwork._

_“You, uh, transferred in from…” she began absently, trying to recall what she had read last week when they shipped his file over for her to review. Where the hell was that file? She shuffled papers urgently._

_“From Orchid.”_

_“From Orchid, that’s right. Dammit!” she cursed, rummaging some more before she finally uncovered his chart. “Here! Eric Jackson,” she read aloud, flipping open the folder, “eighteen years old. No one from your immediate family has worked in medical, but your exit scores were off the charts. Almost as good as mine,” she added, cocking her brow and smiling up at him. She continuing to skim his file in silence._

_He shifted uneasily, and she closed it, dropping it haphazardly back on the desk._

_“Doctor Griffin?” Abby turned towards the door as one of her medics poked his head in. “Your patient is here,” he informed her._

_She cursed under her breath and looked around with a sigh, since as eager as the intern was, she most-definitely was not ready to have him join her with a patient yet. “Mr. Jackson--”_

_“Eric is fine, ma’am.”_

_“--your first assignment...” She gave him an apologetic_ _smile as it came to her. “Organize my paperwork so we know what the hell is going on around here.”_

_“Yes, ma’am,” he said, eagerly rounding the corner of the desk and settling down in her rolling chair._

_She stared at him in surprise. Yeah, he was definitely a strange kid. No one should be that excited over filing paperwork on their first day as an intern. She would have raged. Shrugging, she watched him make himself at home sorting through her crap and headed out of her office to consult with the patient waiting in Exam Room #2._

_When she returned a half hour later, her office looked more pristine than it had the day she took over as head of medical. Her papers were stacked in orderly piles, sorted into folders based on their date and information contained, some older, less relevant ones put away alphabetically in her newly organized file cabinet (it was organized before… at one point), and the rest of the room was swept, dusted, and sterilized until surfaces gleamed. She stared at him in shock._

_He finished wiping her data pad screen and smiled at her with those big, brown adoring puppy eyes._

_“All done, Doctor Griffin. What would you like me to do next?”_

_Alright, so maybe this wasn’t her_ **_least_ ** _favorite time of year._

* *

They’d agreed to tell one person on the entire Ark, only because his position and skill set made it necessary, and that person was Jackson. She’d known him for over seven years, and in that time, he had demonstrated his diligence and devotion to her again and again. But he was also so virtuous, so virtuous that she felt guilty burdening him like this, especially since he was likely to do anything she asked of him. It felt dirty. If it hadn’t been about protecting her child, she could not have gone through with it.

She found him sitting in medical, perfectly poised, tall in his seat, tapping at the screen as he sorted names of patients for their upcoming physicals. Almost a decade later, and he was still happily taking on tedious tasks so she could focus on more important things.

She lingered in the doorway, smiling fondly.

“Jackson,” she finally murmured, closing the door behind her and pulling up a stool next to his.

He beamed at her, always so delighted to see her, but his smile grew concerned as he took her in. She’d felt horrible, keeping secrets and avoiding anything venturing into personal territory during their conversations. He had to know something was bothering her. They had a wonderful working relationship that was layered with friendship, professionalism, and deep, mutual respect for each other. And it wasn’t as if they ever shared anything too intimate, but it still felt so wrong to be less than forthcoming with him. He was family.

“Abby, what is it?” he asked quietly, eyes wide and apprehensive. Even now, there was an innocence to him that broke her heart.

She gave him a careful but regretful smile, nervous energy rising up inside of her.

“Jackson,” she began, “there’s something you need to know, but the moment I tell you, we’ll both be breaking the law. So this is your chance to back out.” As if he would. He looked almost exasperated with her at the suggestion, and it warmed her heart.

“Abby, what did you do? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Bless him, she thought, looking down for a moment. He knew her so well and would back her through anything.

“In a way,” she answered, opening her palm to him. He quickly slid his hand in hers and squeezed firmly, his expression filled with loving concern.

“Abby?”

“I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened for a moment, but he suddenly let out a breath he’d been holding, as if her answer was satisfactory somehow. He always managed to surprise her.

“That explains so much,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter.

She looked at him in confusion.

"I noticed you’ve been staying in medical late at night, running tests, but I didn’t want to pry. You have a right to your privacy, and I feel like that’s something people haven’t been giving you since Jake. But I was sort of starting to think you were sick.”

She smiled sadly and leaned over, drawing him into a gentle hug for several long moments, finding comfort in his embrace. He hugged her back like he expected her to float away, the last Griffin standing but for how long? Letting out a soft sigh, she released him and sat back, squeezing both of his hands.

"What are you going to do, Abby? You can’t possibly be thinking of hiding this. They’ll find out.”

“I already did something about it,” she said quietly, swallowing thickly and trying to prepare herself for his judgment.

He stared at her with wide eyes, tightening his hold on her hands.

“You did it by yourself?” he whispered. “The termination?”

“No,” she breathed, then let out a low chuckle since there was an irony to all of this. “I married Kane.”

“You…” He dropped her hands, expression twisting into a pitiful mixture of confusion and anger, coming as no surprise to her. Jackson hated Marcus as much as she did, maybe even more, and not because he had any personal qualms with the man. He was so protective of her, and anyone that talked to her the way Kane had over the years left Jackson with such an obvious bitter taste in his mouth. She found it endearing. Gentle Jackson, and he’d come close to decking Marcus so many times over the years.

She watched him patiently, waiting for it to fully sink in.

“But, _Abby_!”

“He suggested it. Figured out what was going on and offered to marry me in order to cover up the pregnancy. I was probably more surprised than you are.”

“I highly doubt that. Marcus _Kane_?”

Jackson stood and clenched his hands into fists, pacing a little. The poor young man always had a certain degree of anxiety to him, but usually he saved the pacing for drawn out medical emergencies. Maybe that’s what she was to him right now.

“Abby, if the baby is Jake’s, which I’m assuming it is, you have to be at least five or six weeks into your first trimester.”

“Five,” she confirmed, watching him.

“Have you started prenatal supplements yet? Removed your faulty implant? Tested your blood and urine levels?”

“No supplements yet, but I have run tests and all my levels are normal so far.” She rolled up her sleeve to show him the healing extraction site on her arm. It had been one of her first responses to finding out she was pregnant, since the hormones from the faulty implant could have harmed the baby. Telling, she thought to herself, that her first reaction was the safety of the child, despite her uncertainty.

“Okay, when was your wedding night?” he asked, expression neutral.

“Uh… four days ago?”

“So tomorrow, you should come to me for an official pregnancy test. I’ll take your samples to confirm and we’ll get you logged into records, then we’ll schedule your five week checkup, which we’ll have already done, of course--first thing tomorrow--and there will be a nice paper trail to support our story.” He paused his rambling, considering. “I’ll need to do the paternity testing, but that won’t be hard to fake.”

Abby nodded and bit back a smile, watching him in quiet amazement. Her very own Jackson, breaking the law and being damn good at it. She felt proud, which was probably the wrong reaction to any of this. And yet...

“We’ll make sure to put you on Terbutaline during your third trimester, as well as document premature risks at your checkups with prescribed bed rest. The timeline the way it is, we can’t have the little guy coming out any sooner than it needs to.”

She was already dreading the idea of bed rest.

“The good news is, Clarke was a late baby. Hopefully this one is just as content to stay in there for a little longer,” she added, moving to her feet. “Jackson…”

“Abby?” He smiled faintly down at her, eyes fond and loving but also wild with concern.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she breathed, squeezing his hands and hoping her face conveyed all of the gratitude she was feeling.

“Abby, of course. We’re in this together now. You can count on me.”

His smile was enough to penetrate straight to her soul, slowly working to ease the guilt she felt for dragging him into this mess. For the first time in ages, she decided everything might be okay. Someone was on her side, fighting in her corner, and he was the best ally they could have asked for.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vera inspires Abby to see the good in Marcus.

She entered their quarters with a loud groan, trudging over to the edge of the bed and settling down to take off her boots. It was an extensive battle since her ankles were absolutely massive. Heaving a sigh, she briefly turned her attention towards him. He was bent over his data pad at the small desk in the corner of the room, dressed in his casual clothes, tapping away at the screen as if he hadn’t even registered her presence. He was always doing that, and she wondered if it was purposeful or if he was just that obsessed with his work.

She sighed again. Louder.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, as if she was some major inconvenience he had to address, like a citizen of the Ark engaging in illegal activity waiting to be tracked down and arrested, but he finally opened his eyes and looked up, scrutinizing her.

“How are you?” he asked in that annoyingly neutral voice of his. What kind of a question was that? Clearly she was terrible.  

“Oh, amazing!” She rolled up her pants and peeled off her socks, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor. “My feet are killing me.”

His eyes shot down to her clothing littered on the floor, a flash of irritation crossing his face, before narrowing in on her exposed skin with a frown.

“Is that much swelling normal?”

“Yeah, welcome to pregnancy,” she scoffed. “You puke your guts out, your ankles turn into small moons, and your back starts to split apart as your joints shift for the baby. Oh, and there’s the constipation, cravings you can’t satisfy no matter how much you eat, mood swings, and feeling like there’s an entire goddamn station resting on your bladder. It’s thrilling! You should try it sometime!”

She couldn't help it. She was just so miserable and angry and he was such a convenient target for her aim all of her frustration at.

He clenched his jaw but stood and tentatively moved over to her, wordlessly helping her elevate her legs with a couple of pillows.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah, how about a seven month tranquilizer so I don’t have to deal with anyone?”

“Well, I can give you a head start on that,” he said through gritted teeth, heading towards the door and sliding on his jacket.

She sighed and watched him, feeling a little guilty. He really was trying, wasn’t he? Her emotions felt totally out of her control, like someone was pulling her strings and urging this monster to emerge with its teeth exposed. Had she been this bad with Jake?

“Marcus…” she conceded, watching him a little regretfully. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave.”

“No, I think I do.”

He furiously laced his boots, an angry flush rising up from his neck until it spread over his entire face. It was a look she knew well.

“Where are you going?”

“To visit my mother. I’m going to tell her I got married. She’ll be overjoyed,” he mocked.

She probably did deserve the sarcasm, but the mention of his mother left her realizing for the first time she wouldn’t have hers through the pregnancy. Her mom had been there to help her the first time around, and being so caught up in Jake, Clarke, the move, the marriage, the plotting and scheming, the hiding... Abby hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that she’d be doing this without her. It made her ache.

“You can tell her about the pregnancy. She’s your mother, she should be the first person you share it with.” She sighed and rested a hand on her stomach, smiling sadly at him.

He seemed to consider that, jaw clenching once and lips pursed in thought, much to her surprise. He’d been so violently opposed to telling anyone, not that he didn’t have sufficient reasons, but his mother had always been something of a weak spot for him, and that was more obvious than anything to her right now. It was sweet, but sad. Marcus Kane, so stoic and orderly and lacking in sentiment, yet was completely conflicted by his feelings for his own mother.

“Send her my love,” she murmured, looking down.

He grunted in response and fled the room like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

When she awoke from her nap a couple hours later, she looked around to find him still gone, but there was a single dessert ration sitting on his desk that she was sure hadn’t been there before. She slowly stood, bracing her hands against her sore hips, and approached it, lips curling up into a faint smile.

It was chocolate cake.

* *

Mecha was so different from Alpha. Sure, on the surface it looked similar, lighting and colors familiar, but the moment one stepped on board, it smelled of oil, hot machinery, with the permanent tang of sweat heavy in the air from generations of hard labor. She’d spent a fair amount of time here doing medical rounds over the years, and it was always the smell that got her. As she looked around, she also noted that Mecha was more worn down than Alpha, with grittier surfaces and more erosion due to the higher temperatures and layers of grease and chemicals in the air.

She glanced down at her data pad for directions, then made her way to the lower living sector. It was much darker down here, louder from the hum from the engines and the consistent clamor of metal upon metal as gears and grinds collided only a couple decks below.

She checked her tablet one last time to verify the room number, then raised her knuckles and hesitantly knocked on the door in front of her. A middle-aged woman with a friendly smile answered, immediately lighting up.

“Vera,” Abby said with a smile.

“Abby! Oh, it’s so good to see you! Please, come in.”

Vera Kane, a warm, welcoming soul, with quarters to match. She had tapestries and religious artwork hanging on the walls, books scattered about, a plate of pastries and drinks on the table as if she was always expecting company, and the smell of incense hung in the air, masking the unpleasant stench from machinery outside. A gentle, melodic orchestra of strings played from a speaker in the corner of the room, and she realized that Marcus must have inherited his taste in music from his mother.

Abby stood in front of a large painting of the Eden tree. Staring up at it, she wondered how the hell _Marcus Kane_ grew up in a place as warm and welcoming as this. He really was full of contradictions.

“Please, have a seat,” Vera offered, pulling out a chair from the table and quickly moving to pour some wine. But she stopped suddenly, chuckled to herself, and shook her head. “On second thought, I’ll put a pot of tea on instead.”

Well, at least Vera was one less person Abby had to hide her pregnancy from. It appeared Marcus had informed his mother earlier that day, just as she had suggested.  

Feeling self-conscious, she rested a hand on her still-flat stomach and slowly sat, smiling uncertainly up at the priestess. She was greeted with a fond smile in return before Vera moved over to the tea pot, puttering around and humming to herself as she selected a variety of herbs from her cluttered collection.

Again, Abby wondered, how did _this_ woman raise Marcus Kane? There was really no rhyme or reason to anything in this room, and it made her snort as she visualized the dirty look he gave her socks on the floor of his quarters earlier. Growing up here must have made his teeth itch.

“Have you had morning sickness, dear?” Vera asked from across the room.

Abby hesitated before slowly nodding. “A little, yeah.” Understatement of the year. She was dry-heaving a few hours ago.

“I’ll make you up a blend of tea to settle your stomach. You can take the rest home.”

Abby nodded faintly, expression more bemused than she intended, but this was all so damn strange. She’d known Vera before, mostly from school. The woman had been a substitute for Earth History a few times and taught a course on classic literature one semester. But her extracurricular activities prevented her from ever integrating into Alpha entirely. Leadership had allowed the Eden Cult to exist, its doctrines mostly a harmless reminder that they’d all be returning to the ground some day, and serving to keep the lower class stations inspired and complacent, but there simply wasn’t room for religion on Alpha itself. But here she was, getting such a personal look into Vera’s life, and therefore Marcus'. It was intriguing and wrong all at once.

Vera returned to the table with a steaming pot and two small cups, chipped in several places. She poured the tea and settled across from Abby, smile just as warm as the hot liquid in front of them.

“How are you feeling, aside from the morning sickness?” she asked, eyes eager.

Abby hesitated and stared down at the tea. “I’m alright. Ankles and feet are already swollen, and my SI joints are killing me, but… I’m alright," she repeated, hoping it sounded convincing. 

Vera reached across the table and rested her hand on Abby’s forearm, giving her a gentle look, eyes pulled back and cradled by wrinkles of wisdom and years of compassion.

“When my husband died, I thought the world was going to end,” Vera whispered, a certain serenity to her voice that soothed Abby. “I understand what it’s like to be in mourning. And I know you and my son have had your differences, so just rest assured that I am here for you, whether you need spiritual guidance through this difficult time, or… a grandma for the baby. I’d like to help, if that’s what you want.”

Abby stared at her with wide eyes, searching her face. She wasn’t a spiritual person herself, but she swore Vera’s voice resonated with something deep inside of her, filling her with trust and calm. Nodding faintly, she looked down at her hands.

“Thank you,” she breathed, swallowing hard. “I… I’m not entirely sure why I came here.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Now, drink your tea; it’ll help with the nausea.”

Abby obediently picked up the cup and blew on the hot, liquid surface before bringing it to her lips. It warmed her from mouth to stomach to soul.

“Marcus was by earlier,” Vera commented, sipping her own tea. “I have to admit, I was shocked when he told me. My son getting married. And while I wish for his sake that it was under slightly different circumstances, I must say… I’m relieved it was you. Perhaps for you both, this is the start of your journey towards healing.”

Abby smiled weakly and watched the remnants of dark tea leaves swirl around the bottom of her cup as she set it down on the table. The peppermint was bitter, but there was a sweetness and zest from the ginger that balanced it nicely, as well as notes of other herbal remedies she wasn’t familiar with, and it had already seemed to calm the storm in her stomach.

“I just want you to know, whatever you might think, I don’t hate your son, Vera,” Abby murmured, glancing up at her. “We’ve never quite seen eye to eye, but… we were friends. Once.”

“I remember. He was always quite fond of you,” she said around a smile.

“He was?” Abby scoffed, incredulous.

“Oh, yes. You were one the only one that befriended him when he transferred to Alpha for school. I think he was truly grateful to you for that. The way he talked about you was so endearing. I always thought he must have had a little crush."

Abby’s eyes widened, but she swiftly swallowed and tried to school her features.

“Everyone deserves a friend,” she said with a shrug, “and I always did like a challenge.”

Vera laughed, watching her warmly still. “Then you’ve married the right man.”

Abby’s smile faded and she quickly took a drink of tea, feeling a pang of resentment at that. The _right man_ left her weeks ago, his lifeless body floating somewhere through the vacuum of space. She was married to the most convenient man now, not the right one.

“He’s treating you well, of course?”

She hesitated. “Very well,” Abby answered, lips curling up faintly. It wasn’t a lie. Despite their complicated and sometimes aggressive history, Marcus Kane was not the worst husband a woman could ask for in a sham marriage. He hadn’t taken advantage of her, he wasn't cruel or demanding. She considered, smiling weakly again. “He gives me his dessert rations.”

Vera chuckled. “He’s always been such a generous boy. Especially with the position he’s in.”

“What do you mean?” Abby asked curiously, taking another sip of her tea.

“Well, do you think he _likes_ having to keep law and order? Having to float people for harmless crimes?”

Abby frowned, perplexed, and waited for her to continue.

“He hates it,” Vera explained. “He does the work so someone else doesn’t have to. Marcus is always giving, even if everyone around him can never be allowed to see it. I admire my son for that.”

Realization settled heavily in her gut, and Abby stared down at the table as Vera’s words continued to sink in. A mother’s love, not the most objective of views, granted, but perhaps still capable of offering some insight into the man she’d always had trouble deciphering. _Was_ he generous? Selfless? Was this antagonist she’d grown to know over the years really just a facade out of necessity so that someone else didn’t have to do the dirty work?

Was Marcus Kane a good man?

“I’m… grateful to him,” Abby whispered. “He could have forced me to terminate or… carry it to term for adoption, but he didn’t.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Vera said with a fond smile, brushing her fingers over Abby’s knuckles.

“What do you mean?”

Vera hesitated, then smiled, shaking her head. “You’re carrying his child, and Marcus always wanted to have a family. More tea, dear?”

“No, thank you,” Abby answered, staring up at her with wide eyes. It was hard to picture Marcus Kane as a family man, changing diapers at odd hours of the morning or testing a bottle against his wrist. But it occurred to her she may be witnessing it before long, not that she’d ever expect anything of him once the baby arrived.

“Very well,” Vera answered, standing and gathering their empty cups, humming to herself again as she cleaned up. Abby watched her in silence for a long moment, debating whether or not to speak and what to even say.

“I had my mom for my first pregnancy,” she admitted finally. “I… miss her.”

“Oh sweetheart, I know.” Vera moved back to the table and stood next to her, tangling a hand in Abby’s hair and caressing.

It should have been startling, such an intimate gesture, and probably would have been from anyone else, but this woman truly did elicit her trust. Absently, Abby leaned into her touch.

“I’ll be here for you in any way, as if you were my own daughter, Abigail.”

Abby believed her. Only her mother had ever called her that before.

“Thank you, Vera,” she said through a weak smile. “I don't want to impose.”

“Nonsense. You come over whenever you’d like. If I’m not here, I’ll be at the Tree. Which you’re more than welcome to come water,” Vera offered. “It’s very healing.”

Abby had no intention of embracing the beliefs or traditions of her cult, but Vera had been nothing but welcoming, so she reached down and gave her free hand a squeeze, smiling gratefully.

Vera stood there a while longer, caressing her hair, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her head. Abby’s eyes fluttered and she let out a shaky breath, memories of own mother's affection slowly filling her. She looked up as Vera drew away to pack up the blend of tea leaves.

“Bring to a boil and steep for two minutes,” she instructed over her shoulder.

Abby stood, not wanting to overstay her welcome.

“Thank you,” Abby said, and she meant it. Vera’s presence and words had comforted her from within. She accepted the small bag of tea, fidgeting with it in her hands.

“Of course. Come by soon. We should talk some more when you’re feeling up to it.”

Abby nodded and moved to stand by the door. “I will, I promise.”

To her surprise, Vera leaned over and wrapped her arms around her neck, drawing her in for a brief embrace. She relaxed into it, and slowly pressed her face into Vera’s shoulder.

“Please… be kind to him. He wants to help, even if it doesn’t always seem that way,” Vera murmured into her hair.

Abby drew back and studied her, nodding. “I’ll do my best.”

Vera seemed satisfied with that answer, also nodding once before opening the door for her, and as Abby said her goodbye and headed back down the corridor towards the airlock, she was immediately greeted by the smell of hot oil and perspiration once again. It made her already sensitive stomach uneasy.

Abby returned to Alpha, feet attempting to carry her to the old quarters she’d shared with Jake and Clarke for so many years. But she remained focused and refused to give into muscle memory. Clutching the bag of tea, she opened the door and entered to find Marcus in bed, lying on his stomach, cheek smushed into the pillow as he snored quietly. He must have been exhausted. Sleeping on the floor couldn’t be comfortable. She wondered if he was sleeping well at all.

She wordlessly approached and stared down at him, watching how soft his features looked under the shield of sleep. Before her brain could catch up to impulse, she reached forward and stroked a single curl from his brow, a stray separated from the rest of the group, perfectly slicked back.

Abby drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, watching his back rise and fall and fingers lingering against his temple. She felt the cool ring from her necklace secretively pooling between her breasts, a reminder of his unexpected kindness. Of his generosity.

 _Please be kind to him_ , she heard Vera say, a quiet plea.

She was going to try.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus invites Abby to lunch. For appearances, of course. It doesn't go quite as planned, and she finds herself longing for things that surprise her greatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so excited to share this chapter with you all! It's short and sweet, but one of my favorites. Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta.

He found her in medical, and despite the child growing in her being her number one priority, she’d managed to unintentionally work through lunch. She studied his face as he approached and wondered if Jackson had sent him to scold her, his expression annoyingly indecipherable, but lips tightly drawn back into… something. Was he trying to smile, or was he in pain? It was honestly anyone’s guess.

“I was thinking,” Marcus offered quietly as he stepped close, “you could join me in the mess hall for lunch some days? You know, for appearances.” He shifted uneasily. The man could float criminals without blinking, but _this_ made him uncomfortable?

She heard the sound of Jackson’s stool rolling back from the counter and didn’t have to look to know he was watching them with all his amused judgement.

“Sure. We can do that,” she murmured, staring up at him and biting her lip. She offered a faint smile and he weakly matched it. Aww, look at them. Vera would be so proud!

“Also,” he added, shifting again, “my mom invited us over for supper tomorrow night. We can say no. I’m busy anyways, and I know you work late some nights, and--”

“Marcus, it’s okay. We should go.”

He looked up at her in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “She’s been very kind to us. It’s only right.”

“Oh, uh… okay, then. I’ll… I’ll let her know.” He fidgeted.

Across the room, Jackson snorted, and Abby shot him a glare. He held up both hands and wheeled himself back over to the counter, shaking his head and bending over a microscope.

“Go to lunch with your husband, Abby,” he deadpanned, giving her a smirk that was half-judgmental.

“You heard the man. Doctor’s orders.” Marcus smiled a little less awkwardly now. Shooting Jackson a conspiring look (when did _that_ happen?!), he shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes darting around the floor like there was something of interest there.

Abby slowly stood, feet and back protesting, and he lurched forward to help her up.

“I’m pregnant, Marcus, not dying,” she grumbled, batting at his hands.

He clenched his jaw and stepped back, trying not to glare, but old habits did die hard and his annoyance was seeping through in his eyes. She sighed and slid out of her coat, hanging it up by the door as they walked to the mess hall together. Absently, she wondered if the space between them was too much or too little for a newlywed couple. It felt like everyone was watching them, people stopping mid-conversation to stare.

The marriage itself was public knowledge by now, officially added to Ark registry. Most of their friends and colleagues knew, and it seemed most of the station did, as well. Word traveled fast, especially when it involved a story this juicy. How could it not? What people must be thinking of them, Councilors Kane and Griffin: he had her husband floated, threw her daughter in Lockup for treason, she hated his guts, and now here they were, through some order of events that called for speculation, Mr. and Mrs. Kane, the newlyweds. If the station was buzzing already, she wondered what it would be like in a couple of weeks when they went public with her pregnancy.

They stood in line for their meal trays, and two men waiting in front of them glanced over their shoulders, murmuring between themselves. One of the men snorted. Abby frowned, trying not to overhear what they were saying.

“The nerve of that guy,” she made out anyway. “Husband’s body is barely cold and he jumps on her. Probably has some dirt on her, too.”

“Or maybe she’s sleeping with him to get her daughter out of the Sky Box,” the other man replied with a smirk.

“Hey!” Abby snapped, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him around. “If you have something to say, at least have the courtesy of saying it to my face!!” Her heart rate rose in tandem with her anger.

“Abby,” Marcus whispered warningly, wrapping his fingers around her arm and trying to pull her back.

People were definitely staring now. She didn’t care. Just another Tuesday, right? Only today, instead of yelling _at_ him, she was defending him. Oh, how times had changed. It would almost have been comical if she weren’t so enraged.

“I’ll have you know Marcus Kane is a very decent man! If it weren’t for him, there’d be criminals running loose all over the station! The only thing he’s guilty of is upholding the law!”

Marcus stared at her in surprise for a second, then tightened his grip on her arm. “Abby, _stop_.”

The man in front of her started to laugh, nudging his buddy.

“We’ve got it all wrong. These two probably conspired _against_ Jake Griffin. They sure got him out of the way for good. The girl, too. She probably had dirt on them.”

“You _bastard_! Take that back!”

She lunged forward and shoved her hands against the man’s chest, suddenly far stronger than usual, her eyes burning with angry tears and rage boiling up through every nerve ending in her body, causing her hands to sweat and tremble. How _dare_ they?!

“ _Abby_!” Marcus hissed, wrapping his arms around her and firmly tugging her back against his chest. He glared at the instigators. “Everyone back to your meals!” he barked. “Or I’ll start detaining people for creating a public disturbance!”

The two men quickly obliged. They may not have respected Marcus Kane the man, but they feared Vice-Chancellor Kane, head of security, who had probably floated men they knew for lesser crimes than starting a brawl.  

She panted, still pinned against his chest, vision narrowing and adrenaline screaming loudly in her ears as everything overheated inside of her and all she could focus on was his impossibly hot breath against her cheek, and the firm planes of his body pressed flush against her back. She wanted to scream or run or fight or collapse or _kiss him_.

Where had _that_ come from?

“Get your meal tray. We’re going home,” he whispered, a quiet order, lips brushing her ear as his eyes scanned the crowd. She shivered, and when she didn’t immediately answer, he tightened his hold on her and gave her a gentle shake. “Okay?”

She slowly nodded, chest still heaving, and glared at everyone around them before pushing him away and snatching up her tray. It shook under her grip. She turned around and met eyes with Callie, who had made her way past the gathering crowd and now stood nearby, staring at her with worry and disbelief.

“Abby,” she whispered, approaching her. “Darling, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Abby answered, panting quietly.

“Everyone back to your seats!” Marcus barked again to the remaining onlookers, expression drawn into the commanding sneer that Abby recognized so well. He quickly retrieved his meal tray, nodded curtly to Callie, and pressed his hand to Abby’s back, guiding her from the mess hall and towards their quarters with gentle force. Once inside, he slammed his tray down on the desk, his vegetables tumbling out and soup splashing. He stared at her incredulously, fists clenching into balls at his side and jaw drawn tightly.  

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

“ _Me_?” she demanded, setting her tray down next to his and rapidly closing the distance between them. “Didn’t you hear what they were saying?!”

“Abby!” He grasped both of her shoulders and turned her fully towards him, staring down at her with so much intensity it made her tremble. “It doesn’t matter what they say. You can’t engage like that! Ignore them and move on.”

How did he not get it?

“People can’t be allowed to think those things about you or Jake! It’s _horrible_!” And to make matters worse, her stinging eyes allowed a few tears to break through the barricade, and they rolled down her face, leaving hot trails behind them. She wiped them stubbornly, disgusted with herself. She hated crying out of frustration; it made her feel so out of control, especially in front of someone. “They can’t!” she sobbed, claiming to herself it was just the pregnancy hormones.

He stared down at her for a long moment, then suddenly grabbed her into a tight hug and pulled her to his chest. Despite her shock, she buried her face there, relieved, and cried. It was the first time she’d allowed herself to since moving day, and all of the emotions she’d experienced were pent up behind a crumbling dam inside of her, just waiting for the permission they needed to burst free.

“It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair, holding her closely and rubbing her back. “It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

She tried to believe him, tried to focus on the calming, steady beat of his heart against her ear in contrast with her racing one, but all she could think about was how good his hand felt stroking her hair, how much she never wanted his strong, sheltering arms to let go, how soothing his voice was against her temple.

And how damn much she still wanted to kiss him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some UST! ;) I don't know about you guys, but the mental image of him holding her back against his chest while she's all "murder!", whispering in her ear, is so hot to me. Hope you enjoyed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the in-laws is always interesting, and that's before you factor in an illegal pregnancy and foot rubs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longish wait. I've been moving and in-between apartments. It's taking me forever to edit, but I'll be moving into the new place this week and hopefully things will settle down after that. 
> 
> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta.

_“Are we really still having this conversation? I’m busy, Doctor.”_

_The smug bastard. As if he hadn’t been yelling just as loudly as she was for the last ten minutes, the usual song and dance for their captivated Go-Sci audience._

_“Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Kane!” she snapped, following him into his office and slamming the door behind them._

_He settled heavily into his chair, sighing theatrically, before returning his attention to her with a faint smirk. A smirk?! A god-damned_ ** _smirk_** _?_ _She wanted to reach over and slap it off of his face. Did he actually_ _find this amusing? Anger boiled up inside of her, festering into well-practiced rage, adrenaline coursing through her veins until she could hear it in her ears._

 _Screw him and screw_ _his smirk!_

_Why were they even fighting?!_

_It had started in the Council Room, she recalled, mind racing as she struggled to catch up. In a downright rare turn of events, they’d both voted yes on the same proposal, but the universe couldn’t be in balance if they hadn’t disagreed on something. Following the vote, he’d suggested a week-long trial_ _where they’d implement the new action plan, and based on the results, roll out the updated procedures no earlier than the beginning of next month. His proposal_ _was logical, she’d give him that much, but far too complicated and not nearly time-sensitive enough--classic Marcus Kane. She saw no reason why they couldn’t start implementation next week and adjust as necessary as they went._

 _Now, as they stared each other down, her leaning over his desk with her palms flat against the surface, him sitting with disgustingly good posture and his hands neatly clasped in his lap, that damn smirk still on his face, she was rapidly realizing that their loud argument from Council Room, down winding Ark corridors, and into his office was… completely_ _inconsequential. They both wanted the same thing, just with different time tables. Which begged the question of what the hell she was doing here in the first place?_

_Fighting with him had become a habit._

_It was familiar._

_It made her feel good, powerful,_ **_alive_** _._

 _That series of realizations_ _made her flush, but her cheeks already burned angrily. Thank god. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush because of him. She wasn’t entirely certain how long they’d been staring at each other, wordlessly, as her anger merged quickly with anxiety, hands growing sweaty against his desk, and she imagined leaving behind palm-prints, evidence of her nerves for him to bear witness to._

 _She abruptly straightened and tilted her jaw defiantly, trying to act less unnerved_ _by the revelation than she actually was._

_Why did she like fighting with him? Why was it so exhilarating? Why did it make her feel so good?_

_“Thelonious is on my side,” she said, because arguing was preferable to the defeat her silence might imply._

_“He always is,” he commented with a sardonic look, opening up a file._

_She wasn’t sure what else to say. There was nothing left to fight about, but damned if she wasn’t going to have the last word!_

_“We’re doing this my way,” she demanded, fully aware that she sounded like a petulant child._

_He actually_ _chuckled. Bastard._

 _With a deliberate_ _huff of frustration, she stormed from his office and slammed the door behind her. It wasn’t common for her to end an argument feeling humiliated, but her original motivation was_ _so distant now, leaving her uninspired to continue. He hadn’t seemed particularly passionate on his side of things either, and Abby found herself wondering if there would_ ** _ever_** _be a day that they didn’t feel obligated to go head to head on even the most pointless issues._

_Unlikely._

* * * *

Marcus looked so out of his element that it was almost comical.

He was sitting at the table, staring down at his half-eaten food, hair in uncharacteristic disarray from repeatedly running his hands through it. His foot tapped restlessly against the humming floor, eyes darting around the room, never remaining in the same place for more than a couple of seconds. He shifted in his seat for the third time that minute. Vera, meanwhile, was relaxed in her seat, giving Abby a warm smile as she recounted details about her own pregnancy more than forty-two years ago. Abby was listening, really, and she’d offer an encouraging comment or a smile and a nod just often enough to seem engaged, but her attention was mostly on Marcus. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. It was like he was ready to jump out of his skin. 

Given his typical, maddening level of composure, she loved it.

Being a mother and a doctor, she was used to multitasking, so it only took her a moment to realize Vera was asking about her symptoms. 

“Oh, nausea? Of course, but your tea is helping,” Abby answered with a smile, not missing a beat and definitely remaining calm. She hesitated to share more, but Vera was being so open that she felt obliged to, as well. “My ankles and feet are massive, just like they were with Clarke,” she added. “Although I didn’t experience swelling until my second trimester with her.” 

“Has Marcus been giving you foot rubs?” Vera pressed, eyes narrowing at her son.

“Mom!” He jumped in his seat before squirming and running his hand over his face again, grumbling under his breath. 

Abby smirked. Poor Marcus. Finally she’d found a way to get under his skin.

“I told him to give you foot rubs,” Vera continued, shaking her head, clearly disappointed with her son. “The mother of my future grandchild deserves a foot rub after a long day, Marcus. Heaven knows it always helped me when your father gave me one.”

Abby smiled in amusement, looking up and watching him, awaiting his answer with a raised brow. Oh this? This would be _good_. 

He glanced between them with shifty eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching more than once. He finally shook his head and stood up, head bowed to avoid eye contact, gathering their empty plates and bringing them into the small kitchenette to clean.

 _Coward_ , Abby thought with a grin. Retreating from a fight he couldn’t win.

She turned her attention back to Vera and told her about her first check-up, about the upcoming ultrasound, about everything she would have shared with her own mother, and she found herself truly grateful for Vera’s eagerness to step into a similar role without question or judgement when the entire station seemed to do nothing but judge. As Vera discussed bartering for some materials to sew clothes for the baby, Abby watched Marcus over her shoulder as he awkwardly tried to look busy even though the dishes were clean and dry. He noticed her staring and didn’t look away, to her surprise, meeting her eyes with a tentative but fond smile. She smiled faintly back, studying his face and wondering what he was thinking. He looked so domestic. For the first time, she found herself imagining him helping her raise the baby, and it didn’t bring her dread like it probably should have. 

“Abigail, dear?” 

She frowned, shaking herself, and returned her attention to Vera. Mother, doctor, Councillor, Head of Medical--whatever her credentials and her enviable multitasking skills, she hadn’t heard a damn thing Vera had just said. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, looking sheepish. “What were you saying?”

Vera bit her lip and chanced what was probably supposed to be a subtle glance between them. “It wasn’t important anyway,” she said, lips curling into an affectionate smile. “I’ve kept you two long enough. Marcus, take your wife home and give her a foot rub, then put her to bed. She needs her rest.”

His expression, whatever it had been, quickly faded and turned contrite. He approached them, eyes glued to the ground, and jaw drawn up tightly.

“Of course, Mom.”

“That’s my good boy,” she said with a warm smile.

He hesitated in front of Abby, and she smiled curiously up at him until he offered his hands and gently helped her to her feet. They stood like that for several seconds, his hands grasping her forearms and eyes locked with hers, searching for the same answer she was, even though the question lingered, unasked, both of them uncertain what it even was to begin with. 

Finally, she remembered Vera, and Abby quickly thanked her, ignoring the way she was beaming at the two of them, standing there like idiots. What had gotten into her? What had gotten into _them_?

Marcus kissed his mom on the cheek as Abby waited just outside the door. Vera leaned in and whispered something to him which turned his cheeks a bright crimson, and Abby spent the entire walk home wondering what she had said to her son. 

Once inside their quarters, acting every bit the good boy his mother had claimed he was, Marcus sat her down on the bed and helped prop her legs up with pillows. He moved to the other side of the room to make her a cup of tea to help settle her post-supper stomach. It was not lost on him that most of her nausea occurred at night. He really did notice everything.

She smiled and accepted her tea, warming her palms around the cup and watching as he sat down at the foot of the bed. To her complete surprise, and after some obvious deliberation, he gently lifted one of her swollen ankles between his hands and rested it in his lap. Cautiously but with purpose, he began to massage. She stared at him with wide eyes, lips parted, wanting to say anything at all (thank you? mothers really do know best? what the hell are you doing?), but all thoughts fell away as his thumbs worked in gentle circular motions and washed away her discomfort, drop by drop, until she was a liquid state. 

She let out a quiet, relieved moan, head falling back against the pillows.

“Is this… is this okay? Does it hurt?” he whispered, staring up at her with wary eyes.

“It feels wonderful, Marcus,” she murmured, glancing down at him again. But nothing could have prepared her for the tenderness her look was met with. It made her chest tighten pleasantly. 

He kept his eyes fixed on hers for a moment, then returned his attention to his task, fingers kneading her feet and ankles, before cautiously sliding up to her calves. It made her wonder if he expected her to kick him for touching her like this. In another life, she might have.

Last month, she might have.

She swallowed thickly and watched his fingers glide over her lower leg, and despite herself, her skin tingled with new sensations under his touch, every nerve ending igniting in response to his ministrations. She squirmed a little, which caused him to look up quickly. They locked eyes again, and yesterday’s urge to kiss him returned, a mere spark that was beginning to evolve into a full-blown flame.

Maybe it hadn’t just been adrenaline, after all.  

His eyes grew heavy with something resembling need as he watched her face, his lips parting and his fingers caressing more than massaging. But before she could breathe his name like she half-intended, he was on his feet and several feet back from the bed, as if her skin had burnt his hands.  

“You should rest!” he blurted out, shifting awkwardly and hesitating, his face full of what looked like conflict.

Did he desire her? Perversely, the idea made her stomach swoop, and she tried to quell her reaction, begging it to stop before her impulses spun out of control and she was powerless to do anything other than give in to them. She couldn’t. Even if the reason why was escaping her.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s a good idea. I should rest up. We have the ultrasound tomorrow,” she murmured, knowing it was an excuse. She rested a hand on her stomach and looked down at her barely swollen belly. With the baby the size of a pea pod at six weeks, she knew it must be due to bloating. 

“We?” he asked in surprise, expression searching.

She looked up and nodded firmly. “Yeah, you should be there. For appearances, and...” She stared down at her fidgeting hands and shrugged. “I want you there.” 

As if he hadn’t been spooked enough, he now seemed ready to jump out of his own skin. But he quickly managed to school his features in that annoying way of his. She wished she had that talent, because she was certain her face was an open book of mixed emotions.  

“The appointment’s at 0900 hours?” he asked, distracting her from her thoughts.

She nodded, silently wagering with herself as to whether or not he would flee. And with what she refused to accept as mild disappointment, she watched him hurry off, both winning and losing her own bet. But all she felt was loss.

Desperate for something to ground her, she reached into her shirt and drew out her necklace, staring down at the glistening, reflecting metal ring. Jake’s ring. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel grounded or calmed or unburdened. She just felt guilty. 

Why did she feel like she was being unfaithful?

* * * *

She awoke some time later to the low hiss as the door slid open, roused by the heavy clunk of his boots even though he always tried to be quiet. She listened to him fumble off his clothing, after what sounded like three attempts to jiggle his jacket zipper loose. What on earth?

She sat up with a quiet sigh and stared at him in the darkness, his silhouette barely visible against the dim nocturnal lighting. 

“Marcus?” she whispered. 

She heard him freeze. 

“Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you,” he said quietly, undressing the rest of the way down to his undershirt and boxers. 

She watched him roll out his sleeping mat and recalled how she found him asleep in his bunk the other day while she’d been out to visit Vera. Clearly he hadn’t been getting the sleep he needed on the uncomfortable floor. She felt a twinge of guilt.

“Just come to bed,” she sighed, sliding up against the wall to make room. It was a small bunk, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to fall back to sleep knowing he was lying restless on the floor. 

He hesitated and slowly approached her, staring down at her in the darkness. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew they were burning into her. She imagined them intense and conflicted, and it made her squirm.

“Abby, it’s fine. I’ll be alright.”

“Just get in the damn bunk, Marcus.” 

She was too tired to argue with him. Much.

He hesitated again, and she felt the bunk slowly dip under his weight. His skin was radiating heat, even from the space between them, and when she inhaled, she could smell the stench of liquor wafting from his half-open mouth as he very quickly settled into a deep sleep. As she avoided coming into contact with him, she wondered just how many times he’d come home drunk over the last week.

But that was a tomorrow problem. Right now, as she lay there thinking of the ultrasound, all she could do was let his deep, heaving breaths lull her into the peaceful comfort of sleep. 

She’d forgotten how much she missed sharing a bed. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Marcus share a surprisingly tender moment at her first ultrasound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Lisa for exercising her badass midwife knowledge and giving this a look-over, and, as always, thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta. 
> 
> This one is so sappy, I might grow a forest.

The lights in medical were too bright, the walls white and sterile. It smelled sharply of alcohol and disinfectant, turning her stomach. It should have been more familiar, comfortable, but there was something so profoundly different about being the patient. She felt a twinge of sympathy for the hundreds of people she had treated over the years.

Abby entered the exam room, and Marcus followed, taking up residence in the corner where he awkwardly studied a painting--a half-hearted attempt to make the stark space feel homier.  

“Marcus,” she said, gesturing towards a hospital gown folded on the table. “I’ll need to change.” 

He jumped, eyes widening, before quickly nodding and stumbling out of the room with comical speed, much like she imagined a wild animal would on the ground when spooked. Frankly, it was surprising he hadn’t tripped over his own damn feet in his haste.

She quickly undressed and changed into the stiff, scratchy gown, tying it around her back and settling onto the exam table, her legs dangling over the shockingly cold metal. Was this setup really supposed to be comfortable? Her ass was freezing against the steel, and the lights still stung her unadjusted eyes.

The place that usually brought her the most comfort was betraying her.

Marcus knocked a few moments later, poking his head into the room with his fingers politely covering his eyes, just in case, and she snorted and shook her head. As if he hadn’t seen her half-dressed in the small quarters she now called home, an inevitable side effect of living together. 

“Uh… Doctor Jackson wants to know if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” 

He uncovered his eyes and glanced at her cautiously, before nodding for Jackson to enter. The two men filed inside of the room, and Jackson shut the door behind them, data pad clutched at his side. He gave Marcus an uncertain look, then leaned into quietly whisper to Abby, concern marking his features. 

“Are you sure you want him here, Abby? He can wait outside. No one has to know.”

“I’m sure,” she murmured, nodding and swinging her bare legs.

She wasn't sure.

Jackson hesitated, as if still unconvinced that Marcus had any right to be present for such an intimate milestone, but finally set down his data pad and scrubbed up at the sink. Marcus hovered beside her, perhaps more on edge than he had been at dinner with his mother last night. This new side she was becoming privy to, gradually, as they naturally began to fit into each other’s lives with more ease, was more than she ever expected him to be. He was so damn good at fooling everyone, wasn’t he? Her mind drifted back to the previous night, a foot massage and bed sharing. Both had felt too good.

Abby laid back and awkwardly slid her legs into the stirrups stationed at the foot of the table. Marcus froze suddenly, staring at her with wide eyes as Jackson approached with a gloved hand and moved between her legs. The young doctor lubricated his fingers and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Ready?” he asked. 

She nodded, biting her lip, and Marcus sputtered, face flushing vividly. He abruptly turned away. She wasn’t feeling nearly as awkward as he apparently was, having performed hundreds of these examinations herself; she’d learned to compartmentalize in a professional medical setting, such as this, and even with the setting betraying her personal comfort, some things were like emotional muscle memory to her still. 

She stared at the ceiling as Jackson conducted her pelvic examination. 

“Everything feels normal, Abby. How has your lining been?”

“Thick.”

“That’s good.” The young man smiled down at her and withdrew his hand. He changed his gloves and wheeled over the ultrasound machine, setting up the monitor in front of them. Abby looked up at Marcus, watching as he tentatively turned back around, cheeks still pink, and shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes darting around the medical equipment, floor, ceiling, and walls with uncertainty. Anywhere but her.

Jackson lubricated the wand, and her heart fluttered a little at the idea of seeing her baby for the first time. Marcus shifted next to her and made a questioning noise, staring in what she decided was adorable confusion, looking between her and the ultrasound wand Jackson was holding between her sprawled legs.

“I-I thought that went on your stomach!”

“The baby is too small to see that way, Marcus. This is a pelvic ultrasound,” she explained, biting her lip. “The first several usually are.”

He was so clearly trying so desperately to remain at ease about this, his jaw clenching as he nodded and averted his eyes to the ceiling, backing up a bit more towards her head and away from everything that was happening down… below. She could hear him gulp loudly and in her peripheral, watched as he fidgeted like a child. 

“Did you want to handle the insertion, Abby?” Jackson asked. 

“Thanks.” She nodded and reached down to take over, the unpleasant cold making her shiver and only adding to her long list of her discomfort as a patient. Jackson took over and gently manipulated the wand as he focused on the monitor, searching for the image of the baby.

Marcus looked between the two and swallowed hard. 

“Maybe you should buy her dinner first, Doctor Jackson,” he said dryly, obviously trying to ease his own uncomfortability. And despite the ridiculousness of the statement, Abby looked up at him and bit her lip hard, trying not to smile. She was trying to remember a time he had ever demonstrated a sense of humor.

Jackson ignored him and made a pleased noise. “There we go! There’s the little guy. Or girl.” They wouldn’t know that for at least another ten weeks.

Abby’s attention shot towards the grayscale, distorted image on the monitor. Her breath caught, as something more closely resembling a legume than a fetus showed up on the screen. It brought tears to her eyes.

“Where? I don’t see it,” Marcus murmured, bending closer to the monitor. 

Jackson rolled his eyes and pointed his gloved finger at the blob towards the bottom of the screen. “There.”

“That?” Marcus asked, staring at the blob. “That… looks like a peanut.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Sorry, that was insensitive.” 

Abby giggled and waved him off, eyes watering with a mixture of joy and amusement. It really did, didn't it?

“Well, at six weeks, the baby’s actually not much bigger than a peanut,” Jackson said with a fond smile, beaming down at Abby.

She sniffled and grinned, overcome momentarily with emotion. There hadn’t been much time to feel _anything_ beyond her blinding grief. But looking at the tiny splotch on the screen, she couldn’t do anything but laugh and cry as joy swelled in her chest and consumed her, causing her hands to tremble. To her surprise, Marcus reached down and covered the hands on her stomach with his, offering her a tentative but reassuring smile. 

Jackson looked between them and bit his lip, taking a step back. 

“Why don’t I give you two a moment alone?” he offered, a well-recited line in this context, but the look on his face told Abby he’d never expected to say it to them. Neither had she.

She nodded, giving him a grateful look, before returning her attention to Marcus. His features were soft, much like they’d been when she found him sleeping the other night. But this was the first time she’d seen him like this without the armor of sleep, eyes gentle and searching and so brown, growing smile filling her with unimaginable warmth.  

Without letting go of her hand, he reached behind him and pulled the stool over, settling down beside her.

“So, that little… peanut is your baby?” he asked with a tender, perhaps awe-struck smile. 

She swallowed hard and nodded, turning up her hand underneath his and tangling her fingers through his. Was she really doing this? Holding hands with Marcus Kane? Strangely, she didn’t hate it. 

He smiled, eyes on the monitor for a while longer, but his smile faded into a squint. 

“You can’t find it, can you?” she asked with a chuckle.

“I just had it!”

“The little blotch at the bottom, Marcus. The peanut.” 

“Right!” he said, clearing his throat and laughing nervously. “The peanut. There?” He pointed to the screen, glancing down at her with concern. 

She nodded up at him and bit her lip, beaming. It made her melt. “Yeah.” 

He smiled warmly and kept his finger on the screen, probably to keep from losing the baby again. She bit back a giggle.

“Shush, you,” he said in a mock-stern voice, before lapsing into a chuckle of his own. He squeezed her hand and shook his head. “Do you have any names picked out yet?”

"No," she sighed, shaking her head and musing. Living on the Ark, once a person named their first child, it wasn’t often they put much thought into naming another. She certainly hadn’t. 

"Well, I vote for Peanut," he said with a grin.

He _definitely_ had a sense of humor.

"Peanut for now," she agreed, smiling warmly up at him. Her smile faded and she watched his face thoughtfully. "Marcus?"

He was staring at the little blob on the monitor where his finger rested. He glanced down at her with a curious smile.

"I wanted to ask," she whispered. "Do you plan on being involved?” It’s a question that had been plaguing her since having dinner with Vera last night, although she’d been subconsciously chewing on it for far longer without realizing. She wasn’t entirely certain what she wanted his answer to be, either. 

"Involved?"

"With the baby. It's your call," she clarified.

His expression grew serious, brow not-so-subtly knit into familiar lines.

“Do you _want_ me involved?" he asked carefully, studying her expression.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded once, watching his eyes widen.

"I want to help," he confessed, a tentative whisper. “Yes?”

She smiled up at him slowly, eye stinging again.

"Thank you," she breathed with quiet relief, squeezing his fingers. "The baby will need a father figure."

That made him gasp quietly. What did the idiot think she’d meant before? She wanted him to be a damn babysitter? 

"Abby," he whispered, sliding closer with the stool and staring gravely down at her. "I will be there. However you two need me. Not all of this has to be an act, okay?"

A pesky tear pooled in the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, not trusting her voice to remain steady if she spoke more firmly.

He hesitated, then leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. Surprised but not displeased, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the comfort in his proximity, her mind flooding with images of him changing diapers at 3AM and rocking their baby to sleep.

 _Their_?

He gently drew back and smiled warmly down at her, and that damn smile of his threatened to break what little composure she had remaining. God, it must be the pregnancy hormones making her a total sap.

“Abby, I--”

“Yes?” she whispered, voice varely a whisper now. 

“I wanted to-to thank you. For sharing this with me,” he murmured shyly.

She smiled and squeezed his hand again. “Thank _you_ for… everything, Marcus,” she said, and it was without any sort of reservation or derision. Her baby was alive and healthy, thanks to him. 

"Should I get Jackson?" he asked gently.

"Yeah." She reached up to wipe away a tear and nodded, resting a hand over her stomach as he left her side.

She missed Jake. It wasn't fair he couldn't be here for this. But if she was being honest with herself, Peanut and her really could have done much worse.

* * * *

They stopped by the mess hall on the way home for a late lunch, sitting in the back, mostly-deserted corner as they ate their food in relative silence. He nudged his chocolate cake over to her and she smiled shyly down at it, quietly thanking him. She devoured it with a hungry moan, only because she was eating for two and not at all because it was the best damn thing that the mess hall served. 

“It’s nice to see you managed to avoid starting a brawl today,” he commented dryly. 

Her head shot up and she stared at him with wide, amused eyes, lips slowly curving into a smile. Sense of humor, indeed. Where had he managed to hide that?

“Well, what can I say?” she replied, equally dryly. “I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“That’s a first.” He snorted and gathered up their empty meal trays shaking his head, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Watch it,” she warned, grinning up at him.

He beamed down at her, balancing their trays, his expression warm and his smile… loving? No, that was too much to think about right now. A surge of warmth invaded her down to her bones, and she shook herself, quickly standing and following him out of the mess hall.

There were some maintenance operations happening on the deck they usually took to their quarters, so he ushered her into a lift to take the roundabout way home. She stepped inside, shivering a little when he rested his palm on the small of her back. He’d been doing that an awful lot lately, and while it may have begun for appearance’s sake, it now felt more like a comfortable habit. Regardless, she had never once experienced the urge to flinch or pull away or jab a syringe into his throat. Part of her wondered when they’d return to their old habits, if this was just a coping mechanism to make living together more bearable. If, once the baby was born, he’d be back to staring her down across the Council table with those fiery, dark brown eyes, sharp jawline, and slick hair not one bit out of place… while balancing a child on his knee. 

Blaring alarms tore her from that amusing thought, tethering her to reality where the lift they were in halted suddenly. The overhead lighting flickered then died, quickly replaced with a whir by dim, red emergency lights that coated the pitch black with an eerie hue.

She stared up at him in confusion and with the slightest hint of fear.

“What the hell happened?”

Even in the low light, she could see his concern increasing.

“Marcus?” she demanded when he didn't answer. 

He opened up the comm box and picked up the phone, listening and cursing when he couldn’t seem to find a signal. He slammed it back down and opened another panel on the wall, fidgeting with the wiring, although she doubted he knew what the hell he was doing.

“Marcus, what’s going on?” she repeated, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him to face her, her spark of fear from earlier broadening into a fire of panic. “Was this a scheduled outage?”

He stared down at her, his face a shadow aside from the thin veil of red glow. She could make out his jaw clenching and unclenching as he considered his answer.

“My guess, there’s been a power fluctuation. Probably the oxygen problem.”

The oxygen problem? Hearing him so flippantly refer to the crisis that had gotten her husband floated sent a surge of upset through her body, but she quickly quelled it since there were far more pressing issues at hand. 

“If the CO2 scrubbers overloaded the system…” She shook her head, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Then…”

His expression was grave, worried perhaps, and in total, unspoken agreement with her. Worry was not a look she was used to seeing on him. A crack in his shell, a chink in his armor. He was supposed to be the impassive one when she was hot with emotion.

With a nod and slight hesitation, he let out a breath and responded. 

“We’re trapped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first cliffhanger. Please don't murder me. Next chapter won't take as long, since RL has settled down a bit. I promise!!
> 
> Marcus losing the baby on the ultrasound was heavily inspired from that iconic moment in Friends, and I wrote that just for Melanie_b, since it's one of her favorite scenes and she's been so kind to answer my really gross pregnancy questions. Ha! Love ya, Mel!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While trapped in an elevator during a power outage, Abby and Marcus are forced to confront some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta.
> 
> Sorry, the show kinda killed my muse for a while there. I think we're back though!

She sat with her back against the cold, hard wall, one knee propped up. Her eyes were clamped tightly shut as she listened to his slow and steady, almost calculated breathing next to her, felt the rise and fall of his chest resonate through his body and vibrate out to where their shoulders met. Slowly, she opened her eyes and glanced at him. He was sitting against the wall as well, with his long legs splayed neatly outward and his arms folded across his chest. Sweat glistened on his temple in the dim, red light. Whenever the primary power went out, which had only happened a time or two during her life on the Ark, it always became stifling before the chill of space had time to sink in; with no coolant systems online, the residual heat from the century-old, battering engines would rise from beneath their feet, overheating the station.

She was hot, sweaty, pregnant, and a little claustrophobic. This was turning out to be a _great_ day.

It wasn’t as if they’d just sat around doing nothing, but she still felt utterly useless. After he’d found the dead comms, he had tried prying open the emergency panel, only to find it stripped, supplies most-likely relocated to a more heavily used lift. And after an embarrassing failed attempt to reach the ceiling panel by standing on his shoulders, they’d finally given up and sat in silence at his suggestion, attempting to conserve their oxygen. 

As she watched him, his brow knit despite his steady breaths, she wondered if he’d always breathed in such an annoying way. She’d been living with him for days now, and it had never occurred to her. Grumbling, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall again, ears intent for any sign that help was on the way. 

“You alright?” he whispered, probably in response to her quiet display of annoyance. 

“Fine,” she breathed, waving him off. She opened her eyes and glanced at him. He was staring at her with all the worry in the world, which should have been endearing, but she was grumpy, and it wasn’t cute. “How long has it been?” 

“It’s best not to think about that,” he replied quickly, jaw tensing. 

That boded well.

“I can’t believe the power’s been offline for this long,” she said with a quiet huff, eyes searching his in the near-darkness of the emergency lighting.

“It’ll come back online soon. Engineering should be in the process of getting the oxygen flowing first.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said shortly.

She wondered if he sometimes forgot she had been married to an environmental engineer for twenty years. A couple of months ago, she probably would have snapped at him, but she silently congratulated herself for holding back. He really didn’t mean to be so condescending after all. 

They sat in silence for another few minutes, but there was a growing pit of worry in her stomach, and it was making her antsy. She stood, stretching and pacing. He opened his eyes and watched her with what she could only describe as heavy disapproval. 

“You’re wasting oxygen,” he commented. 

She kept pacing, trying to expend her nervous energy before it consumed her. 

“Abby, sit down.” He reached up and grabbed her by the wrist, his touch firm without being rough, and tugged her back into a sitting position. 

She glared at him and jerked her hand away, drawing her knees up and hugging them tightly. For a moment, she was reminded of Clarke as a petulant child, quite the introvert, but with enough attitude to speak volumes. She knew who Clarke had gotten it from. 

He hesitated for a long moment, studying her, and finally said, “The ultrasound today…”

She stared straight ahead, waiting for him to continue. 

“Thank you for including me in that. It was… it was truly special.”

That made her soften. Just a little.

“Of course. I’m… I’m glad you could be there.”

She watched out of the corner of his eye as he ran a hand over his face, wiping away some of the sweat from his forehead. Her mind drifted back to the night before, how they’d shared a bed for the first time.  

How his breath had been heavy with the sour of alcohol. 

“Marcus?” she asked quietly, expression growing concerned. 

He glanced at her.

“Do you…” She thought about changing her mind and asking him something else entirely, resolve threatening to slip away. _Do you have any ideas for names? Have you ever wanted children? How did your father die?_ Anything but this. 

“Do you drink often?”

He stiffened immediately, flinching and turning his head sharply towards her.

“Why?” he asked warily.

“Last night, you-you came home drunk. I wasn’t sure if that was a regular thing or not. You do disappear a lot at night.”

He looked defensive, and probably rightfully so. She was interrogating him out of nowhere. She watched as he clenched his jaw a few times, fingers uncharacteristically tapping anxiously against his arm still folded in front of him. 

“I have a drink most nights, yes. It helps me relax.” 

She leaned her cheek against her knee and studied his expression, her brow furrowing sympathetically. She highly doubted it was ever just one drink, and as a physician, she knew that dependence on alcohol with that much frequency was a glaring sign of an underlying issue. It made her stomach sink.

“For how long?” 

He took several moments to answer, glancing down before whispering, “Since I joined the guard.” 

That hit her harder than she expected it to. Everything she’d learned about him from his mother, how difficult his job was, but how he did it because someone had to, how maybe the Marcus Kane she thought she knew so well had merely been a role he’d been playing in secret for all these years, and maybe, just maybe, it was too much, and he washed down the bitter taste of it at the end of his days with a stiff drink. She smiled, faint and sad, as she considered all of this, her heart heavy inside of her tightening chest. She briefly wondered what he’d be like if he had chosen a life that he found fulfilling instead of necessary. If he’d chosen love over duty. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, slowly reaching up and bringing her hand to his arm. She gave it a squeeze and watched as his eyes widened in response. “I know we’ve had our differences, Marcus--”

“Differences?” he snorted. “That’s putting it lightly, Abby.” 

She ignored him.

“--But I want you to know you can talk to me. We used to do that, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” he whispered, head hanging and expression a bit glum but otherwise still annoyingly unreadable, especially in the poor lighting. 

“I… miss our mess hall chats,” she confessed quietly, cheeks flushing a little. “Why did we stop?”

“Because you became a doctor, and I became a guard, and we worked completely opposite shifts most days,” he said with a shrug, but it sounded so rehearsed. Maybe it was what he’d been telling himself all these years. 

“What happened to us?” she whispered, shaking her head. “We were friends.”

“We just drifted apart. It happens, Abby.” Still rehearsed, like a line from a play in this role he was acting. 

“You and Jake were friends, right? Even after you and I weren’t? He’d talk about working out with you in the gym, or getting a drink with you.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, abruptly clearing his throat and shifting a little uncomfortably. “We should really try to conserve our oxygen, Abby.”

She observed him. He really did feel it, didn’t he? Every life he witnessed sucked away by the vacuum of space as he condemned them to death, their final moments burned into his memory where he buried them, hidden but not forgotten, as he furtively drank it away. Jake, her husband and his friend, still weighed on his conscious, maybe even more so than the others. But he had a duty, and he would always feel bound to it until the day he died. It made her sad, her heart aching and chest tightening. 

Her face paled, blood rushing from her extremities. 

She frowned as her hands began to tremble, the air smelling foul and stale and unfamiliar to her. What the hell was happening? This wasn’t how anoxia usually presented.

“Marcus?” she wheezed, swallowing hard. “I-I can’t breathe.”

He jerked up and came to kneel beside her, shaking his head. “No, it’s too soon. There’s still air in here, Abby.”

“No, I-I… the _baby_ ,” she said, panting shallowly and quickly. She squeezed her eyes shut, fists clenching into balls. It was like the pressure of space was crushing her from atop her chest, suffocating her. Was she having a heart attack? Her mind grew foggy and heavy with racing thoughts as she struggled to work out the possibilities. 

“Abby!” he shouted, grasping her shoulders and giving her a firm shake. “Abby, listen to me!”

Her ears were ringing, and his voice sounded further and further away. She was losing her grip. 

“The baby!” she sobbed, shaking her head as tears began to freely flow from her eyes. “We’re gonna die, Marcus. I can’t let my baby die!” 

“We are _not_ dying!” He squeezed her shoulders tighter. “Abby, listen to me, you need to breathe. You’re just having a panic attack.” 

Her eyes snapped open and she stared up at him, feeling anxious, nauseous, frightened, and confused. A panic attack? This had to be something else. The oxygen was gone from the room, it had to be. “But I can’t--I can’t breathe.” 

“What is your name?”

She shook her head, eyes closing again as she struggled to understand. He knew her damn name. “I can’t--” 

“Your name!” he barked. 

“A-Abigail Griffin.”

“What is your position?”

She opened her eyes again and stared up at him. How the hell was he still breathing? How was he not gasping for air as the CO2 poisoned them to death? 

“Head of medical,” she whispered, still struggling to draw oxygen into her lungs, heart racing faster the harder she fought to breathe.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Clarke. Clarke Griffin.”

“What color is her hair?”

“Blonde,” she whispered, chest heaving. 

“And her eyes?”

“Blue. They’re… they’re blue.” She could picture her daughter so vividly now, smiling up at her from the table in their quarters where she used to draw until her hand cramped and graphite stained her skin.

Abby took a shaky breath, feeling a hot surge of air finally seep through her nostrils and down her constricted windpipe, until it cooled and expanded her lungs, reminding her body of its involuntary duties. 

“Good,” he whispered, nodding and watching her with concern. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You know the drill, Doctor.” 

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Over and over again. The wailing in her ears slowly dissipated, her breathing steadier, as relief spread and coated the burning panic inside of her. 

She opened her eyes and he brought a massive hand up to her face, cupping her cheek. 

“You’re doing great,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over her skin as his soft eyes studied her with a gentle concern she was immediately addicted to. “Just like that, Abby,” he soothed.

“Marcus, I…”

“Shh. You’re okay.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a moment, before drawing back. “You’re okay.” He tilted his head forward, peppering kisses over her cheek, which was wet with the salt of her sweat and tears. He didn’t seem to mind.

As she came back down to reality, those kisses threatened to unground her, his warm breath even hotter than the stuffy air around them and so inviting. She wondered how he’d been able to talk her down from her panic attack so quickly. How many people had he calmed before her? Was it something he, himself, had practiced? 

His lips trailed from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, and she felt her heart rate quicken again, stomach pleasantly fluttering. 

He drew back and studied her with tenderness, affection, and a faint smile as his hand smoothed away a few strands of damp hair stuck to her temple. She stared up at him, completely void of thoughts or words as his eyes flickered down to her mouth. Her lips parted automatically, and a subtle ache warmed its way between her legs. 

Was he going to… _kiss_ her?

“I have you. You’re okay,” he whispered a final time, before bringing his lips tenderly to hers. 

She let out a quiet gasp against his mouth. There was a part of her deep inside that thought about slapping him away and chastising him in horror. Another part of her wanted to laugh in confusion because _ohgodohgod_ , Marcus Kane, of all people, was kissing her! But whatever part of her was currently present at the surface bubbled up and melted her against him, lips conforming to his as she brought a hand to his chest and clenched a handful of his shirt, clinging a little. 

 _Ohgodohgod_ , Marcus Kane was _kissing_ her?! _Marcus Kane_?

The dorky kid with too long arms and legs that joined her Earth Skills class during his last year of school. The kid with painful looking acne and awkward, shaggy hair that always hung down in his face. The kid who sullked in the back of the classroom and glared at anyone who tried to talk to him. Except for her. 

The kid who had grown into a young man who sat with her well into the nights, talking about life and love and their futures in a mostly-empty mess hall, and always gave her his chocolate cake because he somehow knew it was her favorite.

The man who stared her down from across the Council table, filled with animosity towards her as their years of tension would build into friction time and time again. 

The man who had her husband floated.  

The man who illegally married her and agreed to be the father of her unborn child. Her husband’s unborn child.

The man she was beginning to see so differently. 

He tangled a hand in her hair and let out a quiet groan, lips gently moving against hers in a way that ignited her body. She was vaguely aware of a cool breeze raining from above, tickling her scalp and causing her sweaty skin to cool. Seconds later, a click and the lights switched on, causing them to jerk away from each other and squint in blinding confusion. 

She blinked rapidly, eyes desperately trying to adjust to the light. She took a deep breath, letting the fresh oxygen enter her lungs with sweet relief. 

He shifted awkwardly into a standing position before pulling her to her feet. Above, she heard the faint squeak and clamor of the elevator starting back up, the gears rolling into working order inside of the shaft. She stared up at him uncertainly, as if everything was a little different in the light. He seemed equally uncertain, towering over her as his eyes searched hers, his mouth opening and closing several times as he considered what to say. 

“Marcus,” she began, resting a hand on his chest. She also had no damn clue what to say. He had _kissed_ her.

“Abby,” he breathed, stepping closer and shaking his head. His hand cradled her shoulder for a moment before giving it a gentle squeeze and sliding up to cup her cheek again. 

The lift jerked to a stop, the doors slid open, and a team of medics rushed in to retrieve them. She took a step back from him, biting her lip and staring up at him, eyes searching his. They’d have to deal with this later. He gave a faint nod of understanding, before snapping into security mode and demanding a briefing from the team. He glanced distractedly over his shoulder at her, expression concerned. 

“Marcus, go. They need you. I’m fine,” she assured him quietly, lips curling up into a weak smile. He sighed and nodded, maybe a bit regretfully, before he hurried off with a team of engineers and guards as a poor medic attempted to take his blood pressure for a third time. 

After having her and her baby’s vitals checked in med bay, she quickly became Doctor Abigail Griffin again, helping her team search for any injured in need of medical attention. As she worked, she absently licked her lips.

She could still taste Marcus there.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaha, Kane, and Abby deal with the aftermath of the power outage, while Kane and Abby deal with the aftermath of their kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so slow, I know. Trying to write ahead now that my muse is back. Hopefully not too long before the next update. And thanks, as usual, to Kat_Rowe for the beta. I'd be lost without her (well, maybe I wouldn't be, but you would with all my random typos!).

“Sir, we need to call an emergency Council meeting,” Marcus said, arms folded tightly in front of him. He had a few beads of sweat dotted across his temple, and his usually pristine uniform was dusty and wrinkled. His hair, somehow, was still annoyingly in place for the most part. What the hell was his hair gel made of?

“No, this stays between the three of us. Is that understood?” Thelonious glanced from Marcus, then to her, and back again, expression firm. It was no wonder some of his subordinates feared him with the kind of intensity he embodied at times. 

But she didn’t fear him, not usually. Not unless he was signing an illegal marriage certificate for them.

Thelonious and she had raised their children together, spent long nights watching old American football games in the quarters she and Jake had shared, drank together, cried together, laughed together, experienced milestones together. She didn’t fear him, but she did respect him. He was a good Chancellor, maybe one of the best the Ark had seen in the last generation. He was sympathetic towards human needs, but firm and calculated when it came to decision-making, and he always listened to his subordinates before moving forward with anything. Which was why, she assumed, he had summoned them to his office for a private meeting. He genuinely valued both of their opinions--even Marcus', though up until a couple weeks ago, maybe a few _days_ ago, she'd never been able to figure out why. But she was beginning to understand him more and more.

“Thelonious,” she said, voice hushed as she took a step towards the desk and leaned in, palms finding the hard surface and expression quietly pleading. “Marcus is right. We need the full expertise of the Council. They need to know what's going on. I’ve already been stopped by several members trying to get some answers out of me.”

“Hell hath frozen over,” Thelonious said dryly, despite a faint smirk reaching the corners of his mouth. He looked between them again and shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day where the two of you are on the same side of an issue as important as this one.” 

Abby glanced at Marcus, biting her lip. The man had a point. 

“Do we know what happened?” Marcus asked, breaking the silence as he took a step towards the desk.

The Chancellor nodded once, reaching for his data pad and passing it to them. She accepted it and cradled it in her hand, tilting it so Marcus could see. “Sinclair briefed me before I called the two of you in here.”

Abby scrolled through the briefing notes, feeling Marcus as he stepped up behind her, his chest brushing her back. He peered over her shoulder and read along, breath hot on her neck as it caused a few loose hairs to dance against her ear and make her shiver. Before today, she might not have been so hyper-aware of his presence, but she could feel every millimeter where the hard planes of his body met hers, and it was driving her mildly insane. Abby took a deep breath and made herself focus. This was important. 

The briefing notes weren’t hard for even a layperson to understand. The CO2 scrubbers had a system failure which essentially overloaded primary auxiliary and caused a total shutdown. 

After skimming the notes, she stared up at Thelonious with a raised brow. 

“You’re telling me the remainder of the human race almost died because a fuse blew?!”

Marcus let out a faint but amused huff of air as she handed the tablet back to Thelonious.

“This could have all been prevented if you had just _listened_ to Jake instead of floating him!” she shouted, gritting her teeth as her jaw tensed.

“Abby," Marcus breathed, voice gentle but commanding, wrapping his hand around her upper arm. He stared down at her with a weak, sympathetic smile, thumb rubbing her arm in soothing circles as his fingers softly squeezed. But she shook him off and paced to the corner of the room where she took up residence to brood, leaning against the wall with crossed arms.

"We can't afford to dwell on the past, Abby," Thelonious said, expression neutral with the slightest hint of remorse. He was a man who rarely did guilt, but Jake was his best friend, and his death clearly lay heavy on his mind. "I need the two of you to work together on this and convene with me tomorrow morning. There has to be something we're not seeing. A solution we've yet to find."

Marcus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, hesitating to speak. She wondered what he was chewing on in that impenetrable mind of his.

"Let’s hear it, Kane," Thelonious instructed. 

"Sir…" Marcus began uneasily. He so rarely felt unease in matters of business that her head shot up and she watched him warily from her corner of the room. Oh _god_. Now what? "The solution is simple."

Thelonious studied him for a long moment, brow creased. "No, it should _never_ be this simple."

Abby took a step towards them with a frown. What was she missing?

"I said simple, not _easy_ ," Marcus clarified.

"Kane, find me a different solution to work with, anything that doesn’t involve _that_. You have ten hours."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" she asked with quiet confusion, eyes darting between the two men and surprised to find them both avoiding her gaze. "What’s going on?" Her stomach sank because Marcus being evasive was one thing, but _Thelonious_ …

"Abby, I…" Marcus finally met her eye, and was that shame hovering there, just out of reach behind his ever-stoic expression? There was a growing list of firsts today from both of the men in the room. 

"Marcus?"

"There's too many people on the Ark," he finally answered, wincing. "We need to seriously consider population reduction."

"Population red--" She stopped short and stared at him, eyes widening and blood draining from her cheeks. No, there’s no way he was suggesting this. They must have gotten their wires crossed. " _Please_ tell me I heard you wrong."

"I don't agree with the method, but Councilor Kane does have a point, Abby," Thelonious began. "There's simply not enough oxygen to support our current population. Just like Jake predicted."

She stared at them both in horror.

"We will _find_ another way!" she said firmly.

"We have to," the Chancellor agreed glumly, leaning his weight onto his palms before rising. 

She looked at Marcus. He was purposefully avoiding her eyes again as he gripped the back of a chair opposite Thelonious and studied the floor, looking lost in thought. 

"There's always another way," she whispered. "We are _not_ murdering our own people. I can't believe we're even having this discussion!” Abby struggled to figure out how the man who had _kissed her_ and tenderly talked her down from a panic attack only a few hours before was now talking about _executing_ members of the surviving human race. Her expression must have conveyed this, because Marcus gave her a pained look before turning away.

“We’ll have our proposal to you by 0700. Now, where are we with that headcount?” he asked the Chancellor.

“Still nine unaccounted for.” Jaha pulled up the list and passed him the data pad.

“I’ll coordinate the search parties.” 

Abby watched them wearily, emotional and physical exhaustion catching up to her. She’d spent the last several hours treating injuries and minor cases of anoxia due to the power outage, on top of the toll sleepless nights and first trimester fatigue were taking on her body. If her pregnancy with Clarke was any indication, her second trimester would be far less debilitating, and she was counting down the days until it arrived.

“Take your wife home, Kane. She should rest. Doctor Jackson can oversee medical for the rest of the night while you two talk solutions.”

She glanced up at Thelonious, reflexively trying to be offended at being reduced to Marcus Kane’s _wife_ , but she was greeted with only genuine concern from her friend.

“Yes, sir,” Marcus replied, gently ushering Abby out of the room. 

“I’m fine,” she protested quietly, but it was a half-assed attempt, and she could see his gentle smile out of her peripheral. He used to bare his teeth at her. How things had changed. 

They walked down the bustling corridor. There were technicians at various stations, welders with sparks flying around their helmets, and a couple of her medics doing routine vitals. She held her breath, because it was only going to get worse from here. Jake had been right all along, and while she had never doubted him, there was a part of her that had managed to convince herself there would be more _time_ before everything went to hell.

It was going to be a long night. 

“You weren’t serious back there, right?” she murmured, resting a hand on her stomach as they walked. 

He made a quiet, low noise of indifference and kept moving. 

“You know what? You could stop ignoring me and actually give me a damn answer, Marcus! It’s so patronizing!” 

A welder next to them shot his head up, his mask shoved up onto his head as he sat between tasks. She didn’t care but apparently Marcus did, because he urged her into the supply room to their right. The nerve he had sometimes.

“Abby,” he hissed, large hands finding her shoulders and squeezing firmly.

“What?! You were just talking about executing our people!” 

He growled and quickly shut the door behind them, before swiftly occupying the space so close in front of her that she could feel his hot breath on her forehead and see his pupils dilate with intensity.

“A little discretion, Abby, unless you want to cause a mass panic.” 

“Would you float me for that?” she asked, instantly filled with regret, but she stood her ground, arms crossed tightly and lips pursed into a bitter scowl. 

He winced and looked down. “Of course not.” 

“So tell me you weren’t serious, Marcus. _Please_ ,” she pleaded, eyes wandering across the expanse of his face, penetrating into that steely expression of his in attempts to find _something_ she could hold onto. A drop of humanity that she'd felt when his lips had warmed against hers and his tone had soothed.

“We will come up with something,” he said, but his usual poker face wavered, dark brown eyes offering her a twinge of pain. He was lying through his teeth, but at least it was something. He wouldn’t have bothered with even that much a couple of weeks ago.                                                                                                               

“We’re talking about the remainder of the human race, Marcus! Our people!” 

“Abby!” he exclaimed, suddenly bringing a hand up to cup her face, his thumb stroking a bit desperately to match the desperation in his eyes. “I know that!”

“If you know, then how could you even suggest it? What if my name ended up on that list?”

“It never would, not with the baby--” 

“Yeah, but what if it did? Would you just pull the lever to conserve your precious oxygen without so much as a second thought?”

He let out something akin to a whimper, shaking his head hard and swallowing thickly.

“No!”

“Well, you might as well picture it! Because whoever you choose will be someone’s child!”

“I _know_!!” He shouted, eyes watering. She’d never seen him hold back tears before. “Of course I know. I think about it every time I send another body into space! How can you not realize that?!”

His grip on her face tightened, and something broke inside of her. Seeing him like this, as if he was silently pleading for _anyone_ else on the Ark to take this burden from his shoulders, but was too damn self-sacrificial to relent. She wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and drew him down for a kiss, this one completely unlike the last one they’d shared only hours before.

Her mouth collided with his, and his sharp reflexes had him wasting no time as he backed her against the wall and pressed his body firmly to hers. His tongue wasn’t gentle and his lips weren’t generous; they devoured her, greedily taking whatever they could find, forcing her mouth open wider so he could absorb every inch of the unexplored territory he found inside. One hand slid down her back and cupped her ass, and the other tangled into her hair, squeezing and pulling just enough to sting but not enough to inflict pain. 

And she submitted. 

She melted against the wall, hands clutching at the jacket over his chest and using it to pull him more tightly to her. He was taking and taking and she wanted to give more, wanted to feel the further effects she was having on his body as he pressed into her thigh and a deep flush crept down his neck, his breath labored against her lips. She panted, returning the kiss, hungry and angry and intense and desperate, blood rushing away from her extremities, replaced by arousal as it pooled pleasantly just below her belly. 

“Marcus,” she panted, trying to breathe, but his hand joined the other and kneaded her ass, lifting her just slightly off the ground and any hope of breathing was a futile effort. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged at his hair, somehow finding the chance to smirk as it occurred to her that it was finally disheveled. About damn time.

He jerked away abruptly, which made her whimper, but the desire ringing in her ears gave way just enough that she could hear faint shouting in the distance. 

She watched him frown, listening intently. Sure enough, another shout ensued, a man’s voice crying out for help. 

Under any other circumstances, she may have felt offended by the rapidness in which he discarded her and opened the door, running out of the supply room and towards the cries for help. But she didn’t have long to think about it, because her arousal subsided suddenly and replaced itself with the adrenaline she needed to snap into emergency mode. She grabbed the first aid kit from the wall and raced after him.

Marcus was just outside, fidgeting with some wiring until a panel in the wall slid open, leading to a maintenance shaft. Without the sound barrier, the yelling instantly grew louder. 

“Someone’s trapped in here,” he said, dropping to his knees and sticking his head into the opening, looking up and down the dark shaft. “We can hear you!” he called out. 

“Help, please!” a man’s voice pleaded somewhere below them. 

“Wait.” She knelt down next to Marcus and handed him a flashlight from her kit. He swiftly switched it on and shone it downward, the beam darting around the darkness until it caught the bright red glimmer of blood on a sweaty forehead about twenty feet below. 

“Please,” the man called up to them. “The panel locked--I think my leg is broken.”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, his eyes scanning every inch of the scene below them. “See that beam? He must have been welding it into place when the power went out. It shifted. His leg is trapped."

“Here, I’ll go examine his injuries while you get help,” she said quickly, sliding her jacket off.

“No!” He abruptly shook his head. “I’m _not_ letting you go down there.” 

“Because I’m pregnant or because…” she trailed off, swallowing hard, not ready to say the rest of that sentence out loud. There wasn't time anyway, thank goodness.

“Abby, these extreme temperatures are unsafe for the baby, and if you slipped… it’s a long drop,” he murmured, clenching his jaw and avoiding her eyes. He quickly propped the flashlight under his chin and tugged his jacket off. “I’ll help him out. Go get help. We don’t know when there could be another power surge.”

She nodded, watching him worriedly, before tying the med kit to his belt. Their eyes met, but she quickly stepped away. “Don’t move his leg more than you have to.” 

He nodded and reached into the shaft, hissing in pain as the metal rung of the ladder burned his hand.

“Marcus!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He inhaled and stripped off his shirt, muscles flexing across his sweaty chest as he ripped it in half. He wrapped the fabric around his hands and crawled inside the shaft, hurriedly descending the ladder.

She leaned back and called for help, watching as a technician and a medic dropped their things and rushed over. She peered into the open panel and observed as Marcus balanced awkwardly on the ladder and attempted to lift the fallen beam. 

“I’ll send down help!” she yelled.

“No! No… there’s not enough room. I’ve almost got it!” he called up to her, grunting with exertion as he finally managed to lift the beam just enough for the man to free himself.

She was just about to move so the tech could help the injured man up the ladder when the beam let out a loud, creaky groan and shifted, its weight forcing Marcus down the last few feet of the shaft until he landed on the ground with a hollow thud and a metal clang.

“Marcus!!” she yelled, quickly shining her flashlight down with shaking hands. She watched in horror as blood spilled from his split temple where his head had collided with the ladder. He laid motionless at the bottom of the shaft, eyes tightly closed and limbs splayed awkwardly in the cramped space. The men pushed her aside as they pulled the injured man to safety, before the medic tied himself off and descended into the dark tunnel to rescue Marcus.

She stumbled back across the corridor and watched, hands trembling for a moment and ears singing with a mixture of nausea and panic. Before snapping back into physician mode, one last thought seeped into her mind.

_I can’t do this again._


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby deals with an endearingly drugged up Marcus in medical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the LONG wait! I had some major writer's block, but hopefully we're back again? 
> 
> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta, and to Melanie_b for yelling at me to write this morning. Also thanks to Joana, Brigette, Sandy, Stacy, and Jamie for the encouragement and, uh, not so gentle persuasion to keep going. You guys rock!

She was dreaming of Clarke as a little girl. Her sweet, dulcet laughter and her flaming, golden hair, wavy and in casual disarray as she ran away from her in their quarters, attempting to out-run her impending scolding. She had drawn on the walls _again_. Stopping her was always a fruitless effort, however, because Clarke couldn’t help but draw on anything she could reach. It was who she was. And even as a child, her drawings had been masterpieces that Abby didn’t usually have the heart to make her wash away. 

She knew it was a dream, but she wanted to stay here forever, suspended in time as Jake laughed from his seat at the desk, head craned towards them as mother and daughter ran around the space. Clarke let out a squeal as Abby caught her in her arms, feathering kisses all over her chubby, rosy cheeks. 

She heard her name and looked up, startled, because it wasn’t Jake’s voice.

_Abby._

She watched as Jake’s structured face and blue eyes morphed into the softer, brooding features and deep brown eyes that could only belong to Marcus. He was no longer fiddling with wires and mechanical parts, but instead had his data pad cradled in his palm and a gentle smile on his face. She looked down to find Clarke shift into a newborn baby, swaddled against her chest. Instinctively, she rocked.

 _Abby_.

His voice drew her attention upwards again, and to her dismay, Marcus was choking, face flushed and lips blue as the oxygen drained from his lungs and brought blood to his eyes. She jumped to her feet and the baby disappeared from her arms as Marcus fell to the ground, lifeless, her heart beating rapidly. She tried to scream, but there was no sound. Tried to move, but was frozen in place. 

_Abby?_

She jerked from her sleep and opened her eyes, lifting her head with a gasp as she registered the bright lights of medical, the faint beeping of the monitors, and Marcus, full of life and peering up at her with a valid concoction of confusion and concern. 

He reached for her, trying to sit. 

“No,” she said firmly, despite her haze, and rested a hand on his chest, encouraging him to lie back down. “You need to stay still.” 

He grumbled, still foggy from sleep and his head injury, and his hands flew up to investigate the bandage on his temple.

“What--what happened?” he rasped, throat thick from sleep and medication as he began to look around in confusion. “What am I doing here?”

“Hey, just relax,” she breathed, giving his monitors a quick glance before turning her attention towards him entirely. “You’ve only been out for a few hours. You had a pretty bad fall and suffered some head trauma,” she explained matter-of-factly. 

“So this isn’t just a terrible hangover?” he asked, chuckling to himself as if that was an appropriate joke to be making. 

If he wasn’t injured, she’d have slapped him.

“No,” she answered in disgust, sitting back and shaking her head with a look of disapproval. 

He tried to move again, but she kept him in place with her hand on his chest. He stared down at it in confusion, as if he was wondering what it was doing there.

“Marcus! No sudden movements, alright? You’ve suffered some minor bleeding in your right frontal lobe. It’s pertinent you remain still.”

“My brain is bleeding? Isn’t that... kinda serious?” he asked, blinking rapidly. 

“It can be, but we’re monitoring you closely,” she explained. “I gave you something to help with the pain and swelling. Chances are, you won’t even need surgery.”

“Surger-ary?!” he slurred, eyes widening in horror. 

She ignored him and reached for a glass of ice chips, bringing it to his chin and gently scooping some chips into his mouth, fingers brushing against his lips. He smiled gratefully, albeit weakly, and slowly munched on the ice, eyes fluttering shut as the moisture coated his dry throat. He moaned in relief and smiled up at her with warmth and affection, but his expression slowly shifted. 

“The man--the welder in the maintenance shaft,” he said, eyes widening as his haze began to momentarily clear.

“You saved his life, Marcus,” she answered quietly. “He has a broken leg and suffered a minor case of anoxia, but he’ll live because of you.” 

She brought a finger to his cheek, trying not to look as worried and frightened as she felt. She danced her fingertip under a scratch on his cheekbone, trailing it down his stubbly skin. To her surprise, he turned his head slightly and kissed her finger and watched her, but for once he was too tired to mask his concern. 

“How are you? Have you slept?” he asked, blinking slowly as the fog engulfed him once again.

She had to chuckle. Here he was, in medical, waking up with head trauma, loopy from the drugs, and he was more concerned about everyone else than about himself. This really was typical, wasn’t it? Typical of the man he really was, not the man he wanted everyone to believe he was. 

“Yes.”

“You slept? I don’t remember you leaving.” He batted at nothing in front of him, eyes wandering slowly across the room.

“No, I slept right here.” She gestured to his bedside where the imprint of her arms and head still wrinkled the sheet. 

He stared blankly at the rumpled blankets for several long moments, then frowned. 

“That’s not enough,” he slurred. “The baby needs real sleep…”

“The baby is fine, Marcus,” she murmured with a smile, still stroking his cheek. “We both are. We need to focus on getting _you_ better.”

“Yes, Doctor Griffin,” he said with a smirk, which quickly morphed into amused realization-turned-bewilderment. “Doctor Kane?”

She chuckled and shook her head. “No one has called me that yet, and I don’t bother to correct them.”

“Why not?” he asked, looking adorably confused.

“Maybe I don’t want anyone to know about us,” she teased.

“Oh okay,” he said, shrugging, “but Doctor Abigail Kane sounds so pretty.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled tolerantly down at him. “You are stoned, Marcus.”

“Am not!” he insisted, but his endearing giggle that followed did nothing to support his argument.

“Uh huh.”

He shot her a drowsy grin and whispered, expression turning grave. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure?”

“Don’t tell my doctor, but I think she’s hot.” He nodded.

She let out an actual snort at that.

“Is that why you married her?”

“Well,” he began, “she’s not actually my wife. We just pretend, but I wish we didn’t have to.”

She swallowed hard. “Marcus, you should get some more rest,” she said quickly. Biting her lip, she patted his chest and stood, checking his saline and ignoring the absolutely doofy, lovable grin he was giving her. It was tempting to get lost in that grin, but she couldn’t, not while he wasn’t himself, and not while she had work to do.

“Not my fault Jake beat me to it,” he said with a huff, closing her eyes.

She stared down at him in surprise. “What did you just say?”

“Jake, lucky bastard. Beat me to it.”

“He beat you to _what?”_ she asked, not sure why she was encouraging him when he was in this state.

“To marrying you,” he replied, his eyes still closed. He shrugged and sighed, clasping his fingers together over his chest and looking like a sad child. 

She stared down at him in mild shock. He was clearly inebriated from the pain medicine and had no idea what he was saying. This was nothing more than a silly, drug-induced ramble. There was no way in hell that Marcus Kane had wanted to marry her twenty years ago. They had just been kids! And even if he _had,_ it was just a crush, right? As she re-checked his vitals, her mind drifted back to her conversation with Vera, her memories tempting her with what was probably a completely biased picture of what had happened between her and Marcus, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Sometimes, there was truth in wine. 

Was _that_ why the two of them had drifted apart? Was _that_ why he had acted so damn odd on her wedding day? 

Had Marcus been _in love_ with her? 

She shook herself, a certain, unnameable ache weighing in her chest as she watched him rest. No, she couldn’t believe that. Surely she would have realized. 

“Abby?” he asked quietly, opening a single eye. He looked ridiculous. It made her chuckle.

“Yes, Marcus?”

“May I please have a kiss?” 

She snorted and rolled her eyes at him. 

“You are _stoned.”_

“I’m a simple man. It’s a simple request. Pretty please?” he asked with the doofiest smile she’d ever seen. He even fluttered his eyelashes at her.

Smiling tolerantly and leaning over him, she shook her head, brushing a single, dark curl away from his sweaty temple.

“You are ridiculous,” she breathed.

But there was something about that smile that she couldn’t resist. A quick kiss couldn’t do either of them any harm, could it? Smiling, she brought her lips to his and pressed gently, giving him a chaste kiss. His lips were soft and plastered into a grin the entire time, and when she drew back, that grin had somehow multiplied into something even dorkier and happier. God, she loved him. 

Wait, _what?_

She straightened and quickly turned her back, picking up her data pad and tapping away at his chart, updating his vitals and level of orientation. 

“Can you rate your pain for me?”

“What pain? Why am I floating?”

“I’m going to need you to stay lying down and keep your head still. Press your button if you need anything, or if you start to feel any pain, nausea, or discomfort,” she said quietly, detached. “I’ll check on you in an hour.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, and she glanced over to find him still grinning even as he closed his eyes. What an absolute dork. 

“Get some rest.”

She fled to her office and shut the door, settling down at her desk to try to distract herself with her work.

Patient charts, council updates, messages from her staff, and... she _loved_ him?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus may be her most difficult patient yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta and to my Kabby chat fam for motivating me. Love you guys!

Marcus Kane had always been a pain in her ass, but apparently after a week of being cooped up in medical with minimal work to do and no alcohol to rely on, he was becoming a pain in _everyone’s_ ass. Even the ever-tolerant Jackson had resorted to avoiding him altogether, and that morning she caught some of her medics drawing straws to see who would be lucky enough to deliver the Vice Chancellor his medications after breakfast. 

“I am not taking any more of your goddamned snake oil!” she heard Marcus yell all the way from her office, followed by a clamor of metal as a young intern raced out of his room in tears. 

“Abby,” Jackson said, immediately sticking his head into her office with a pleading expression. “We need to talk about Marcus.” 

Her hands shot up. “I know, I know, I’m gonna deal with him.” She stood, rounding her desk with an exasperated groan. 

“Why is he still experiencing symptoms? It’s been a week, Abby. I think we should run some more tests.” 

The truth was, she didn’t need anyone to know that a majority of his remaining symptoms had nothing to do with his head trauma and were mostly a result of his alcohol dependency. But withdrawal or not, enough was enough. She wasn’t going to let him yell at her staff and carry on like a petulant child.  

“Just trust me, alright? I’m gonna deal with him,” she repeated, patting Jackson’s chest before squeezing by and marching towards Marcus’ room. She entered and loudly shut the door behind her, narrowing her eyes on him. He looked downright grumpy, lips pulled into a scowl, hair messy and chaotic, dark pits under his eyes, and a scruffy beard peppering his cheeks and jaw. The man sprouted hair like an animal. No wonder he shaved twice a day.

“What?” he snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at her defensively.

“Marcus, you can’t treat my staff like this! They are just trying to do their jobs, which you are making impossible for them!” 

“I have the right to refuse my medication!” he shouted, shoving something else off his side-table to land next to the wash pan and medication cup already on the ground, pills scattered everywhere. 

“Oh, really mature, Marcus.” She scowled at him and knelt down to clean up his mess, setting the pills aside to sort through later and placing the wash pan back on his side table next to the accompanying toiletries he hadn’t yet thrown at someone.

He stared grumpily ahead, arms crossed tightly, but she could see the tremor in his hands, which he attempted to conceal, and the pale blotchiness of his skin as the withdrawal continued to plague his system. She sighed softly, feeling momentarily sympathetic, but it was still no excuse for his behavior. Or for nearly wasting perfectly good pills!

“Would you like me to explain, again, what each of these medications are for?” she asked, sitting on the edge of his bed with her data pad in hand, giving him a pointed look.

He shook his head and grunted, still focused straight ahead. 

“Because just two days ago, we went through them all and you signed off your consent on every single one of them.”

His attention wavered for a moment as he frowned in confusion. 

“You don’t remember, do you?”

He clenched his jaw and scowled up at her, before returning back to whatever fixed point he’d been staring at as he deliberately avoided her gaze. 

“It’s normal, Marcus. It’s part of your withdrawal. It’s also something that your medicine and supplements could be helping you with _if_ you were being compliant.”

He made an indifferent noise, tightened his arms around himself, and closed his eyes, suddenly wracked by full-body shivers. 

She exhaled slowly and reached for him, softening. “It’s going to be alright,” she promised quietly, rubbing his back and waiting for the episode to pass. “I hear you managed to keep down your breakfast. That’s good news.” Sighing when he gave no answer, she kept rubbing his back, watching him tremble. “My morning sickness seems to have passed,” she added.

He opened his eyes and glanced up at her, anger fading slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. No more nausea. What about you?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “Not much.” 

“That’s great,” she said, offering him a gentle, upbeat smile. 

“When can I go home, Abby?” he asked, staring up at her pitifully.

“Soon, I promise. But only if you stop refusing your medication. Will you do that for me? Please?” She watched him, biting her lip and deliberately giving him big, hopeful eyes. 

He glanced over at her for a moment, studying her face before letting out a long sigh. Nodding slowly, his shoulders slumped in resignation. “Fine, if it’ll get me out of here faster.”

Nodding in agreement and smiling to herself, she retrieved his doses and returned to his bedside, handing him the medication cup and a glass of water, watching him closely as he, much to her relief, took each pill without any more protest. 

“Good,” she encouraged, squeezing his shoulder. “Now… I have one final request.”

He let out an annoyed huff of air through his nostrils but gestured for her to continue.

“Marcus, you stink.”

“How is that a request?”

“You haven’t cleaned up in days.”

Frowning, he lifted his arm and sniffed, cringing a bit.

“I’m going to refill your basin. If you promise not to throw it at me,” she added firmly. 

He clenched his jaw and looked away, not answering. She took the pan over to the sink and filled it with warm water, returning it to his side table and dampening the washcloth.

“Marcus?”

He still refused to look at her. 

“Marcus, what is it?” 

“It’s just... my hands,” he said quietly, avoiding her gaze. 

“Your hands?” she frowned, reaching for one of them, but he refused to uncross his arms. “Marcus…”

“They’re shaky and I’m having trouble gripping things, alright? I didn’t mean to drop some of that stuff,” he confessed, bowing his head. 

“Oh, Marcus,” she said with a sigh, resting a hand atop his arm. “You should have said something. Between the head trauma and the withdrawal, it’s perfectly normal to not have fully regained your coordination yet.” She paused, watching him sadly. “Let me help you?”

“You are not giving me a bath!” he snapped, causing her to recoil a bit. He quickly softened, face filled with contrition as he hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Put your arms down.” And it was no longer a request. Letting out an annoyed exhale, he reluctantly uncrossed them for her, staring in surprise as she untied his gown and urged it down to his waist.

“Abby, no!”

“Shut up, Marcus. This is happening. Doctor’s orders.”

“It’s humiliating!” 

“Would you rather Laura do it? You know, the medic you yelled at for just trying to give you your pills a few minutes ago? She ran out of here crying, if you recall.” 

“I’m sorry, okay? I… I don’t know why I did that. It’s hard to think straight!” He rubbed his hand over his face, groaning. 

“Withdrawal is a terrible thing to go through,” she said in understanding, wringing out the cloth and bringing it to his chest. Before he could protest any further, she began to scrub in gentle motions, lifting each of his arms to thoroughly wash underneath. Reluctantly, he let his head fall back against the pillows and watched her work.

“How’s Peanut?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Hanging in there,” she answered with a faint smile, rinsing out the cloth and bringing it back to do his neck. “If my pregnancy goes anything like it did with Clarke, hopefully this exhaustion will subside as I head into my second trimester.”

“Good,” he whispered as she gently washed his neck. His eyes fluttered closed, and she absently wondered if he was enjoying this. “Have you been sleeping?”

“For the most part. It’s weird being home alone though.”

He opened his eyes and offered her a weak smile. “As long as you’re eating and sleeping. I hope Doctor Jackson is doing a good job of reminding you while I’m out of commission.”

“You’d be proud of his efforts,” she assured him with a warm smile, finishing up with his torso. “Umm, do you think you can handle below the waist?” She gestured vaguely to where the blankets rested against his lower stomach, gaze remaining professional.

His eyes widened, a flush creeping over his face. “Yeah, I-I think I can handle that.”

She wrung out the cloth and handed it to him, then turned around and busied herself with some other things in the room until he was finished.

“All done,” he croaked after a few moments of shuffling. She turned back and smiled tightly, ignoring the awkward look on his face as she cleaned up the items and discarded his dirty laundry. “Now… about that beard…”

He groaned, running his hand through it. “My hands aren’t steady enough to shave.”

“It’s not a bad look on you, you know,” she said with a shrug. “It just needs to be tidied up a bit. I can give it a try…”

“Oh, that inspires confidence,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Jake never had a beard, but I did help him shave occasionally. I’m not completely inexperienced with a razor,” she said, shrugging. “It’s up to you.” 

“Oh, fine. Just… be careful.”

She settled down next to him on the bed.

“Ready?”

“No.”

Rolling her eyes, she lathered up the shaving cream and worked it into his neck and face, slowly beginning to shave away the excess hair where it was especially unkempt. She glanced up at him as she worked, biting her lip when she found him studying her face with a certain intensity.

“What?” 

“You’re just…” he trailed off, frowning. 

“I’m what?” She tapped off the blade and brought it back to his face, working in slow, steady motions. It wasn’t too different from surgery. 

“You’re just… you’re glowing. You look beautiful,” he added sheepishly, as if he wasn’t allowed to be noticing. Squirming, he cleared his throat and quickly looked away.

It was her turn to flush. She felt her cheeks warm as she continued to work.

“Pregnancy hormones,” she murmured dismissively.

“Whatever it is…” He reached up and brought a set of shaky fingers to her cheek, touching her skin gently. “It’s working for you,” he concluded, voice barely above a whisper. 

Blushing worse, she finished up and brought a warm washcloth to his face to clean away the excess cream, unable to meet his eye.

“All done,” she said, not sure why she was whispering. 

“You’re good at that.” His voice was also a whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Biting her lip, she wiped away the last of the cream from his face and stared down at him, heart beating faster. Her breath caught as he brought a large hand up to tangle in her hair, squeezing gently. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been an ass,” he murmured, frowning up at her as he caressed her scalp. “I’ll do better.”

“Good, because I’m just trying to take care of you.” 

“I know,” he whispered, his breath warm against her face. “Thank you.” 

She watched him for what felt like a small eternity, not sure what else to say or whether he was planning another kiss, but someone cleared his throat in the now-open doorway, causing her to jump. She sat up and looked over her shoulder towards the entrance at the tall figure standing there.

“Abby,” Jackson said, face sheepish and hands shoved awkwardly in his pocket, “You’re needed on Alpha. Just a Class D situation, but they requested you personally.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. “Thank you, Jackson. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Marcus and gave him a stern look. “Promise to behave for my staff?”

“I promise,” he said gravely, giving her a single nod and a weak smile.

“Good,” she answered, gathering up her things. She smirked. “Maybe you’ll get a reward for good behavior when I get back...” 

He flushed deeply, eyes widening, and she heard Jackson gasping and scrambling out of the room. She gaped at the realization of how that sounded.

“I just meant… an extra dessert ration or… I should get going!” 

She hurried to the door, pausing to glance nervously at him as she hung up her lab coat.

“I’ll be back,” she assured him, shooting a tight smile his way, before hurrying off to track down her patient on Alpha. The entire walk there, she found herself consumed by one thought.

She didn’t hate the idea of sharing “dessert” with Marcus.

* * * *

This sector of Alpha was usually bustling by mid-morning, but a feeling of unease invaded her to her bones as she walked down the abnormally empty corridor today. Her unease only deepened as she began to register the echoes of hacking coughs. Years of experience had her acting quickly, and she opened her med kit to retrieve a mask, securing it behind her ears. She straightened and looked around. One of her pregnant patients from this sector had sent a non-urgent message requesting her presence, but she’d failed to mention the nature of the call. 

Abby set down her kit and pulled out her scanner, flipping it on and holding it up to test the air quality. Dread set in as she watched the green light turn red, indicating dangerously high levels of bacteria. How the hell had the automated systems not caught something this glaring? She urgently rushed back towards the door, entering her security code into the keypad, then slammed the lockdown button with her fist. Alarms wailed and lights flashed as the sector sealed itself off, and she was left staring at the cold blast doors that now separated her from her only way home by several feet of solid steel.

She picked up the nearest phone and dialed Jackson. 

“Abby? Everything alright?” he answered. 

“No. I got to Sector Five and immediately initiated lockdown. I’m picking up dangerously high levels of streptococcus and mycoplasma in the air.”

“What? Abby! God, tell me you’re in hazmat,” he pleaded through the speaker.  
  
“I’m already inside, Jackson. I’ve already been exposed. The best I can do now is start evaluating symptoms and treating the sick. I’ll have a headcount for you by the end of the day so we can get the inoculations sent over.”

“I’ll join you,” he insisted.

“Absolutely not! I am not risking anyone else being exposed to this. You’re in charge of medical until I’m back.”

“Abby, stay safe,” he pled, voice heavy with concern. 

“You stay safe, too. And don’t let Marcus boss you around too much.” 

She hung up and looked around, debating where to begin. This sector had a population of 132 Ark citizens, and she was all alone with no idea how long she would be stuck here under quarantine. She was pregnant, her ankles were swollen, she was exhausted beyond belief, but she’d faced far worse, so Abby did what she always did and got the hell to work. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crisis averted leads to a moment of domestic bliss, but the stakes are higher than ever, and Abby and Marcus find themselves on the opposite sides of a recycled argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta and to Melanie_b for answering my awkward pregnancy questions.

Two weeks. 

Two damn weeks. 

That’s how long she’d been holed up in this living sector, separating people with symptoms from those who remained healthy, treating the sick, constantly testing and monitoring bacteria levels, conferring with her medical staff over video conferences, administering vaccinations and antibiotics, and somehow trying to find time to sleep and feed herself amidst it all. She was pregnant, and while she normally may have worked herself close to death, she had a baby to take care of, and that meant attempting to take care of herself, too. This child was the only good thing to come out of these last couple of months saturated with grief and chaos, and she wasn’t going to risk complications… or worse. 

Running the final air quality test, she smiled in relief at her findings. Five days without any traceable contagions, and by protocol, she was free to lift the quarantine.

She could finally go home. 

Tiredly, she called Jackson to update him, then keyed in her security code to open the blast doors. It took a couple of blinks for her weary eyes to make sense of the figure waiting on the other side, pacing nervously. 

Oh, god.

It was Marcus. 

“Abby!” he exclaimed, rushing over to her. Before she had a chance to react beyond a confused peep, his arms were wrapped around her, his face buried in her shoulder. She slowly brought her hands up to rest on his back, relaxing into his embrace. “Thank god,” he breathed into her hair.

“How long have you been waiting?” she whispered, both touched and bewildered.

“Since this morning. Jackson told me you’d be running the final test this afternoon. I’ve been worried sick about you.”

She shook her head in disbelief, pressing her face into his shoulder and letting out a cross between a sigh of relief and a whimper. 

_Two. Weeks._

She had actually began to miss him. They’d communicated nearly every day, nights spent talking on the phone in her cramped cot in medical until the sound of his calming tenor voice lulled her to sleep or one of them finally said goodbye, but it wasn’t the same as _this_ \--his arms swallowing her whole in a comforting embrace that left her skin tingling with warmth and relief.

As he guided her home, she stared up at him absently while he chattered on about how well Jackson had done in her absence, and she allowed herself one realization. 

She hadn’t just missed him.

She was fairly certain she could no longer comfortably live without him. 

And judging by how he’d been waiting for her outside of a blast door for hours, with no certainty of whether he’d be seeing her at all, neither could he.

* * * *

Abby awoke some hours later, having slept so hard she found herself wondering what _year_ it was. She rubbed her eyes and watched Marcus working beside her in the bed, glasses adorably perched on his nose as he tapped away on his screen, the dull blue light illuminating his tightly drawn brow. He looked so focused. It was cute.

“What time is it?” she whispered, turning onto her side to face him and resting a hand over her stomach.

He jumped and pushed his glasses up, looking down at her apologetically. 

“Did the light wake you?”

“No… no. I just feel like I’ve been sleeping for a month.” 

He smiled and glanced back at his data pad to find the time. 

“Just a little after midnight. You’ve only been asleep since 1900 hours.” 

“I’m all out of whack from falling asleep so early,” she said, rolling onto her back and yawning. She reached her arms up over her head and arched her back into a stretch, glancing up at him. And God, he was absolutely staring at her breasts through her t-shirt. A flush crept up her neck and she watched his eyes widen before he quickly turned back to his work, a guilty child caught misbehaving.

“You should get some more sleep,” he commented quietly, voice wavering.

“Yeah, right after I pee for the fiftieth time today.” 

Sighing, she crawled awkwardly over him and escaped to the head, the mental image of his eyes on her breasts seared into her brain. When she returned, she found him staring at his data pad with a redoubled intensity. Was he trying _that_ hard to concentrate on something other than her body? Given how bloated and uncomfortable she’d felt as her physique began to go through significant changes, she had to admit to herself it felt nice to have his admiration. It had been so damn long since a man had looked at her in that way, and it was a little bittersweet.

Her mind drifted back to one of their phone conversations they had while she’d been quarantined on Alpha. 

* * * *

_“How much longer do you think it’s going to be?” he asked, and she could hear him shifting around like he was getting ready for a damn spacewalk._

_“At least another week.” More shifting. “Marcus, what the hell are you doing?”_

_He stopped abruptly._

_“Oh, changing for bed.”_

_“You’re loud!” she said with a chuckle._

_“Sorry, I guess I’ll sleep naked then.”_

_She rolled her eyes and smiled into the phone. “So that’s your secret. You sleep naked when I’m not there.”_

_“Yeah, didn’t want to scare you off too soon into our marriage.”_

_“Well, maybe I do, too.”_

_“Really?” he scoffed. There was a long pause. “Are you now?” he asked hesitantly._

_She laughed. “Marcus Kane, are you asking me what I’m wearing?”_

_“I--”_

_“You sick bastard.”_

_“Abby!”_

_“No, I’m not naked!”_

_“Oh… that’s… that’s good.”_

_She snorted. “I’m holed up in a corner of medical on a cot, Marcus. I can’t be naked.”_

_“Well, you could be… you’d just have a lot more eager patients.”_

_“Marcus!” she exclaimed quietly, burying a laugh into her hand, blushing deeply as she listened to his own chuckle._

* * * *

“Abby?” he asked, rousing her from her daydream. She looked down at him in surprise, wondering how long she’d been standing at the edge of the bed drowning in her own memory. “Did you want me to move?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just--” She awkwardly climbed over him, settling down in the small space between his body and the wall, which somehow felt even smaller than it did the last few times they’d shared a bed. 

He was radiating heat.

She tucked her hand under her cheek and watched him work, acutely aware of every centimeter where her body was pressed against the side of his. Judging by the way he stared at a blank memo, cursor blinking repeatedly as it waited for him to type, he was, too. 

“What are you working on?” she asked quietly, peering up at him and biting her lip. 

“Oh…” He shook himself and started typing. “Was sending Thelonious a message.”

She watched his face, squirming a little beside him to try to get comfortable. 

“Is it too bright?” he asked again, glancing down at her with concern. 

“No, I’m just not really that tired anymore.” she confessed with a shrug. “Maybe I’ll get some work done, too.”

“You really should try to rest.”

She frowned up at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Maybe _you_ should try to rest."

“I’m not the one who’s pregnant and coming off of a two week work stretch, Abby!” 

Just a couple of months ago she’d have yelled at him, told him to go float himself, fumed over how patronizing he always was. But there was a layer of genuine worry etched across his face and settled into his tightly drawn lines and concerned brown eyes that made it impossible for her to be angry with him. Sighing, she nodded and forced a weak smile. Peering up at him, she was met by a look of affection, his head tilted back against the pillow and work sitting idly in his hand, forgotten as he watched her.

“I missed you,” she confessed, voice hushed as she brought her fingers up to gently grasp his arm.

“I missed you, too,” he whispered. She noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

She also missed kissing him. 

He must have noticed her staring longingly at his mouth, because he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers, slowly melding and moving them against her own in a warm, languid dance. It felt so intimate, so connected, and it reawoke a slumbering, needy heat deep inside of her belly that drifted downwards and pooled between her legs. She whimpered quietly and reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair and squeezing, tongue sweeping across his lips. His glasses nudged her forehead and fogged up from the heat of their breath and the rising temperature of their skin. He grunted and shifted, discarding them and his tablet somewhere next to the bed, then leaned over her and slid a large hand underneath her back, her t-shirt bunching until his palm collided with bare skin. Moaning, she arched her back into his touch and hungrily drew him down for more, already so shamelessly addicted to his taste.

He groaned against her mouth, a rumble from deep inside of his throat that vibrated against her parted lips, just before his tongue greedily slipped against hers, sweeping around her mouth to see what it could discover as his fingertips mapped out the indent along her spine with dancing caresses. She kneaded his hair and returned the kiss with equal hunger, whimpering softly as her breath and heart rate quickened in a duet of building arousal. 

He panted against her mouth, and she could already feel the effect she was having on his body prodding her hip. She ached for him, for more, for everything, and that need engulfed her from head to toe. Plagued by desperation, she wrapped a leg around his waist and drew his lower body flush with hers, excitement flooding her.

A strange but not entirely unfamiliar sensation caused her belly to swoop, and for a moment she blamed it on the arousal. But she felt it again, stronger this time. It caused her breath to hitch and her eyes to widen, a hand immediately flying down to her stomach. 

“The baby!” she gasped. 

He scrambled around adorably for a second, shifting his weight to his elbow and staring down at her in horror. 

“Did I hurt it?!” 

“No. The _baby,_ Marcus!” she exclaimed, grabbing his hand and bringing it to the spot on the right side of her lower abdomen where there was an undeniable flutter happening, probably in response to her elevated heart rate.

“You can feel it?” he asked with a gasp, eyes widening. 

She nodded and he slowly relaxed, hand cupping the small swell of her stomach. She wondered if it was even strong enough for him to feel, or if he was just humoring her, but either way, the adoring expression on his face made her melt. She beamed up at him despite the mild queasiness that was settling in. Having been nearly twenty years since her pregnancy with Clarke, she was going to have to get used to the feeling of a little one moving around inside of her all over again.

He smiled with wonder, eyes darting between her face and her stomach.

“Abby, this is… this is incredible,” he whispered, shaking his head as his eyes began to glisten. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked with a curious smile, sliding her hand down and tangling her fingers over his.

“For sharing this with me.” 

He bowed and kissed her, this time tenderly and slowly, their hands clasped together on her stomach until they both eventually drifted to sleep.

* * * *

There was another power surge the next day, this one resulting in fatalities. Eight workers had been traveling between stations and found themselves trapped in an airlock during the outage. While the CO2 scrubbers had kicked back in only several minutes after the fluctuation, the surge had fried the airlock controls. By the time the welders were able to break through the doors, it was too late. The remaining survivor was a sixteen year old girl, an apprentice, who the group had given their only emergency oxygen mask to.

Finishing up with her vitals, Abby knelt in front of the wide-eyed girl, attempting to get her attention. The girl stared right through her, rocking back and forth, and Abby resisted the urge to see too much of Clarke in her. She rearranged the blanket around her shoulders and moved over to Marcus, shaking her head and staring up at him with worried eyes. He looked a bit shell-shocked himself as he studied the girl from afar, fingers nervously stroking his chin.

“Marcus,” she murmured, “she's in shock. She needs more time to process before you question her."

“Don’t we all?” he said bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, Jaha requested me in his office. Something about revisiting an old proposal of mine.”

“What proposal?” Thelonious hadn’t mentioned anything to her, which wasn’t like him.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” Stepping forward, he rested two firm hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead, before drawing back and tucking a few hairs behind her ear. “She’ll be alright, Abby. She’s in the hands of the best doctor I know. I’ll catch up with you later.” 

She stared up at him, watching his face return to a state of distracted confusion as he drew back and squeezed her shoulder, before briskly leaving medical. There was _something_ weighing on his mind, beyond the nine lives they’d lost today or the haunted look coming from the eyes of the girl in the exam room. She knew him well enough to know when he wasn’t being entirely honest with her, and it left an uneasy pit in her stomach. 

* * * *

She was seated in their small quarters at the desk, staring despondently towards the door. It was late. Clearly he had made a pitstop or two after his meeting with Thelonious, and given his recent detox in medical, she was worried that one of them had been the bar.

She was livid. 

Resting beside her on the desk was his data pad, open to what she assumed was the proposal that Jaha had wanted to discuss with him earlier that evening. “Population Reduction Measures,” it was titled, and detailed twenty-nine pages of absolute horrendous agenda from a man she barely recognized. He must have forgotten it at home in all the chaos that ensued after the outage. She hadn’t been _trying_ to snoop.

The door opened and Marcus walked in, glancing at her tiredly before bending to unlace his boots. 

“How’s the girl doing?” he asked.

“She’ll live, but she’ll probably wish she hadn’t.” 

He grunted in response, set his boots neatly aside, and straightened, rubbing his face as he approached her. She watched him patiently, attempting a neutral expression. When he finally made eye contact, he glanced down at the desk next to her and immediately frowned. 

“What are you--” He stopped, entire body stiffening. “That’s classified.” He snatched the device from the desk, expression wary and defensive.

“You left it open,” she answered, staring up at him, her face detached and cold. “I thought you didn’t know what your meeting with Thelonious was about.”

“Abby, it’s late. I’m too tired for this.” He shoved the data pad onto a high shelf and turned his back to her, peeling off his shirt and tossing it into the laundry chute. 

“Marcus!” she demanded, standing and approaching him. “What the _hell?_ Are we seriously entertaining this?!”

He slowly turned around, staring down at her with a cold, unreadable expression. “It was from last year. I barely remember writing it! Hell, I was probably drunk at the time.” 

“And what did you and Thelonious decide? When do we murder the first sector in their sleep?!” she snapped, voice dripping with contempt.

“Abby!” He stalked forward, swiftly closing the distance between them, and rested his hands heavily on her shoulders, squeezing. “This is only meant as a last resort-- _the_ very last resort. We aren’t… God, we aren’t going to do this unless absolutely necessary.” His eyes pled with her, face twisted into a painful mess of exhaustion, desperation, and disgust, needing her to understand him.

“We are not going to murder our own people for a few months of extra air!” 

“Then we need to start thinking about other options. _Any_ other options, Abby. Because if we don’t do something, the next time the CO2 scrubbers malfunction, they may never come back online. Those were Sinclair’s words!”

“There has to be another way. If we… if we start entertaining these ideas, Marcus, we won’t _deserve_ to survive this!”

“We don’t get to decide whether the human race deserves to survive, Abby. This is bigger than us.” He massaged her shoulders, kneading fitfully, his eyes burdened with agony he wouldn’t have made her privy to just months earlier. 

“If we start thinking like that, who knows what we’ll become capable of doing,” she whispered, staring desperately up at him. She was so scared. _So scared_ of what this meant for their future as a civilization. Absolutely terrified. “We just can’t afford to go down this path!” 

“Then tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do!” he begged, hands sliding up to cradle her cheeks. “ _Tell_ me!”

Before she could get in another word, his mouth crashed against hers, seeking, devouring, taking. She felt his hands slide down to cup her ass, and he swiftly raised her small frame off the ground with ease, as if the gravity had failed and left her weightless.

“Marcus, please,” she whimpered, breath coming in broken pants, arms and legs wrapping tightly around him and clinging for dear life. They both needed this. 

Without any further hesitation, he carried her to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you here, but the next chapter will be fun for everyone, I promise. And for adults only. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby and Marcus press pause on their argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the chapter. Do not look if you wish to avoid smut. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. :)
> 
> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta and to Melanie_b for answering pregnancy sex questions lmao.

“Abby.” he whispered against her neck, a combination of plea and prayer. If this was what devotion sounded like falling from Marcus Kane’s lips, it was something she could very much get used to.

His mouth was warm, but his breath was warmer. She let out a quiet moan, shivering when his hot tongue glided over her pulse, the air immediately cooling it before his breath heated it once again. There had always been a push and pull in their relationship, and the way he explored her body was becoming no exception. He would warm her skin, let it cool, then warm her up again, a dizzying process that was driving her mad. She was already addicted. 

Part of her--the stubborn, rational-thinking part--felt they should finish their argument, realizing somewhere amid this heat and impulse and desire that the fate of their people depended on them working together. But that part was vehemently being quashed by his firm body resting over hers and the glorious way his lips were wrapped around her fluttering pulse before they trailed down her throat, leaving a cooling path behind. She let out a whine, aware how desperate she sounded, but she was too turned on to care.  

The two of them had always shared an undeniable tension for as long as she could remember. Pressure, restlessness, a thickness that lingered between them whenever they were in the same room. It usually left her blood boiling, but tonight she traded anger for arousal. She could _feel_ that thickness manifested heavy in the air, smell it, taste it, especially when he drew back from her throat and stared down at her with his usual intensity, dark eyes a little wild and lips parted invitingly. Never, in all their years of butting heads and heated arguments had she imagined the tension between them becoming _this._ It was all coming to a head. The humidity grew thicker as the heat between their bodies rose, leaving her humming with desire.

“Marcus,” she breathed, tangling a hand in his hair and drawing him down for a hungry kiss. There was no holding back tonight. They’d been dancing around this for far too long, and she needed to taste him, feel him, take him inside of her until she surrounded him while he fucked her until she could no longer think straight. 

A giggle wracked through her and he drew back from the kiss, smiling curiously. 

“What is it?” he asked, looking bemused as his chest rose and fell heavily from the weight of his own desire.

“I just realized,” she laughed, “I’m into my second trimester now.”

“Oh?” He shrugged and started working her t-shirt slowly up her abdomen, his calloused fingertips caressing exposed skin and causing her to shiver. 

“I get _really_ horny during my second trimester.” 

He smirked, eyes flicking down to watch the creamy patches of skin as he lifted her shirt, pausing to caress the undersides of her breasts. “How terrible for me,” he deadpanned. 

“Shut up...” Her voice was throaty and hushed, eyes fluttering shut and breath coming faster. His touch was making her crazy.

Grinning, he brushed her pert nipples through the fabric of her t-shirt with his thumbs, watching her face intently as she shuddered and moaned in response. He tugged her shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it aside, eyes devouring her exposed breasts with an intensity she never imagined being directed at her outside of the Council room in this context. Matching the level of reverence in his voice moments earlier, he carefully cupped her breasts in his large hands, thumbs sweeping as he weighed, squeezed, tested, learned. The impatient, hormonal part of her wanted to whine and beg for him to fuck her _now,_ but she wouldn’t dare interrupt this deliberate worship. He was a man brought up in faith, accustomed to tradition and practice, and just when she thought his tender but harrowing pace would surely kill her, he bowed his head and wrapped his mouth around her nipple, sucking firmly. She gasped, fingers tangling tightly into his hair and body arching towards him. 

“Oh, God!” 

It was her turn to pray.

He switched to her other nipple, sucking until it was a rigid, aching peak. She was dizzy. She needed more, and she needed it now.

Whimpering, she dragged her palms up his bare back and dug her nails into his shoulder blades.

“Please, Marcus,” she begged.

Wasting no more time, he slid his large hands down to the waistband of her sweatpants, urged her hips up, and peeled them off, followed swiftly by her panties. Somewhere in the hungry look he was giving her as his eyes scanned her now nude body, there was a fond smile that touched his lips as he studied the small swell of her stomach. 

“Abby,” he breathed, hands roaming up and down her sides. He bent to give her a tender kiss, fingers teasing and caressing her inner thighs. She eagerly--no desperately--spread her legs in response, her own hands mapping out his sides until they found the band of his pants. She fumbled, trying to slide her hands between them to unzip his fly. He glanced down and chuckled, lifting himself up onto one arm and helping her. He was badly tenting his pants, and she watched with pleasure as he shoved down his restrictive layers and his arousal sprang free, granting her the first view. He truly was beautiful, surprisingly muscular in places that were well-concealed by his uniform during the day, and skin a pleasant, olive hue that one seldom saw in this type of environment. Her nostrils flared, and she quickly realized she was smelling her own arousal, sweet and ready.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured, voice thick and coarse.

She smiled in amusement and watched his erection bob urgently between them, a drop of moisture pooling at his head and falling onto her abdomen. It warmed, then cooled, much as his mouth had earlier.

She swallowed hard, trembling. “I want _you._ Inside of me.”

His arousal twitched eagerly in response and he groaned, probably imagining how that would feel. Shifting position, he braced himself over her and gave her a tender kiss. 

"Are you sure?" he breathed against her cheek, although his tone was hopeful.

Smiling, she reached down and wrapped her fingers around him, hand sliding slowly up and down his thick length as she memorized his every ridge, vein, and curve. She ached to have him inside of her, to be filled by him for the first time. The way he shuddered and panted made her smile widen. Driven by the needs of his own body, he clearly wanted that, too.

His fingertips stroked her slick folds, and he dipped a finger between them to test her. She was embarrassingly ready for him, but he didn't stop there. He stiffened a long finger and pressed it into her, causing her hips to jerk as her body spasmed gently around him. It had been so long, even a single finger sent pleasure coursing through her. 

"Oh God," she breathed, head falling back. She gave his erection a firm squeeze, and he grunted against her throat. 

Push and pull. They knew how to do that.

He slid another finger inside of her, thrusting slowly but firmly. Her back and hips raised off the bed, arching towards him in the most primal way it understood, seeking that upward spiral, a gradual build towards her release, as blood pooled towards her throbbing center. 

“Touch me,” she panted.

A serious lack of blood to her brain, it took her a few moments of confusion to figure out what the hell he was doing as he slid down her body. But when his beard tickled her thighs, her eyes widened, and she sat up on her elbows to watch him in mild shock. 

“Marcus…” 

“Shh.” He rubbed his beard against her skin, then bent his head and spread her folds, lips finding her clit and sucking gently. The strangled cry she let out would have been embarrassing if she had any room left for dignity, but that had drained out of her as swiftly as escaping oxygen the moment he’d brought her to bed.

He was clearly no stranger to going down on a woman, and while she suspected he was more than capable of drawing it out, of making her writhe with pleasure until she begged for more, he was alternating between firm sucks and licks as his fingers pumped in and out of her, carefully calculated to do nothing more than bring her to mind-blowing orgasm. And God, she was close. 

She kneaded his hair, head falling back against the pillows as her heel dug into his back, leg flung over his shoulder in complete abandon. She was so close. _So close._

“Wait… do... again,” she managed through a gasp, anything more cohesive lost to the simplest need for him to replicate whatever the hell his tongue had accomplished seconds ago that made her toes curl. 

He grunted and complied, fingers driving into her at a dizzying pace now, over and over, light and tension and blood spreading inside of her burning core. She gasped, head thrashing, tugging fitfully at his hair. Everything narrowed into an upward climb, spiraling, racing for the top until she felt suspended there for a small eternity. 

Then… bliss. 

Blinding bliss. 

A sob escaped her lips as she came harder than she had maybe since her last pregnancy, her clit twitching between his unrelenting lips. It was finally too much, and the intense spasms around his fingers became too similar to contractions, pleasure blurring with pain. Whimpering, she tugged him up by his hair. Everything was still white around the edges, but she could make out his wet beard and the hungry smile he was wearing. Was that a smirk? The bastard! 

“Abby,” he breathed, expression concerned. “You aren’t too tender for more, are you?”

The painful aftershocks were beginning to pass, so she nodded, chest heaving and world still spinning pleasantly. He made a relieved noise and took himself in hand, bringing his swollen head to her folds. Groaning, he pushed into her, and they both sighed in relief. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. He buried his face against her throat as he came to rest fully inside her. Her stomach swooped and pleasure shot all the way to her fingertips, tingling. They stayed like that for a moment before he lifted himself onto his arms and began to move, setting a delightfully eager but non-urgent pace. A random but powerful aftershock wracked through her, causing her to clench him tightly, and he gasped, stilling, panting and trembling hard.

“Are you alright?” they both asked at the same time. She giggled and he chuckled breathlessly. She could tell by the look on his face that he was struggling to restrain himself. 

“I’m fine,” she answered first, stroking his hair. “What about you?”

“Y-yeah. You’re just… you’re _really_ tight. You’ve got a death grip on me.”

“Sorry,” she said through a grin. “It’s the pregnancy.” 

That seemed to rapidly quench his desire. He stared down at her with wide eyes. “The baby? Am I hurting it?”

“You’re not hurting the baby, Marcus.”

“Are you sure?”

She shot him a tolerant smile, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Positive. Are we good?”

“Yeah.” He smiled shyly and kissed her forehead, hips slowly finding a steady pace once again. 

Push and pull, push and pull.

She let out a long moan, nuzzling his cheek and closing her eyes, savoring every jolt of pleasure each thrust sent through her body. It brought tears to her eyes, and it wasn’t lost on her how bittersweet this was. Her first time since Jake, and not with just anyone, but with Marcus, a man that she had loved, then hated, then tolerated, then learned to love in an entirely new way. Despite the unconventional journey their relationship had taken, it felt so right.

She could hear his breathing grow labored, and he drew back, fingertips twitching against her stomach.

“Do you need to come again?” he rasped. His pupils heavily eclipsed his irises, skin flushed and dewy with sweat, with a crease ironed into his brow as he struggled to maintain his composure. It made her melt. 

“No, I’m still feeling the first one,” she said with a tender smile, leaning up to kiss him, then whispering, “Let go, Marcus. You can let go…” 

She wrapped her arms and legs around him in unison, embracing him closely and encouragingly as she focused on the ripples of his abdomen, the involuntary clench of his ass, and the firm rise and fall of his chest against hers. He was beautiful like this. Also hot as hell. The grunts and feral noises he was making against her throat made her tighten around him as he drove into her, his hands grabbing onto her hips to brace against the creaking bed. His hips moved almost wildly, and she probably could have come again from just the faintest brush of his fingertips against her clit, but she didn’t want the potential pain of another orgasm to pull them out of this perfect moment.

His fingertips dug into her hips, his grunts turning to chokes and sobs as he finally emptied into her, her name leaving his lips like an answer to his earlier prayers.

She held him as it passed, rubbing his back and murmuring soothingly in his ear. He was trembling, whimpering, gasping, mumbling her name over and over again. She felt privileged to see this side of him, so unrestrained and free from the confines of his carefully crafted persona that everyone else was forced to endure. It was hard to imagine this was the same man who coldly upheld the law and opposed her at every turn, who had men and women floated with a simple nod of his chin as someone else pushed the button.

She tightened her hold on him. 

“I love you,” she whispered, and it felt so sincere and natural. 

He carefully rolled onto his side, probably worried about the baby, and stared at her with such emotive, brown eyes, glossy from unshed tears, brimming with affection.

“I love you, too, Abby,” he breathed, voice wavering and throaty as he held his tears at bay. 

The glimmer of her ring hanging in the window caught her eye before she drifted to sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken it down to wear it. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby reveals her plan to save their people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kat_Rowe for the beta. Ahhh, the end is in sight guys!! Just a few more chapters to go!

She was dreaming of Earth, of what it would be like to feel the sun on her face, to smell the sweetness of nature, to see living animals in front of her, to have two feet firmly planted on the ground as she stared up at the Ark floating in the cobalt sky. Would it even be visible from the ground?

And there was Marcus, walking towards her in a field, the grass around his legs green and tall. As he grew closer, she could see he was holding a baby.

Their baby. 

_ Tap tap. _

She stirred, regretfully hauled from the vivid imagery of a planet she would never see with her own eyes. 

It was early.  _ Too  _ early. She knew, because even before she was fully awake, she could hear Marcus’ sorry attempts at being quiet as he shaved. The lights in their quarters were dim and, aside from the hum of the Ark’s life systems, the sounds from outside the door were still minimal. Aside from guards and various personnel finishing up their NOC shifts, most citizens from this sector would remain in their sleep cycle for another hour. But not him. That incessant  _ tap tap  _ of his razor against the sink after every stroke was enough to make her scream. Did he have to be so…  _ Marcus? _

Memories from last night flooded her, replacing her grumpy thoughts and momentarily causing her to smile. Sex with Marcus Kane was as amazing as she had thought it would be. Not that she had imagined it. Much. He was thorough, intense, passionate--all qualities Callie had used to describe him in the past. But he was also attentive, eager to please, and so affectionate. Never in a million years had she imagined Marcus as an affectionate lover, but the way he had simply laid with her well into the night, fingertips learning and caressing every inch of her body as she drifted to sleep, then drew her against him and snuggled her tightly, contradicted every preconceived notion she had about him. 

She heard him rinse and pat his face dry, just like he did  _ every  _ morning. Groaning, she rolled onto her back and tugged the covers over her head, lying there in darkness. His routine wasn’t as loud or drawn out now that he’d decided on the beard, but he still shaved just enough to keep his fur under control. She smirked beneath the protection of the blanket, picturing him wild and untamed, with a mane like a lion she’d seen in pictures, and a big, shaggy beard. Maybe this imaginary version of Marcus didn’t wake up so goddamn early.

Following some faint shuffling, she felt the covers being peeled away from her face and reluctantly opened her eyes. She’d planned on scowling at him for being so damned noisy, but the dorky grin he was wearing warmed her from the inside out. She couldn’t help it, instantly softening and her lips curling up into a tolerant smile. 

“Morning,” he whispered, stroking strands of mussed hair out of her face and leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. “Was I too loud again?”

“It’s just the curse of being a mom, Marcus. I’m an insanely light sleeper.” She whined and stretched, relief flooding her joints still stiff from sleep. “Come back to bed. I’m cold.” 

He crawled under the covers without hesitation, and she had to smirk. If they hadn’t been sleeping together, he’d have undoubtedly huffed and insisted he had a schedule to adhere to, but apparently the possibility of getting laid made even Marcus Kane lax about his morning routine. She would have jumped him _weeks_ ago if she had known that, just to shut him up a bit.

He pressed close and wrapped his arms around her, lips seeking out the sensitive skin beside her ear, then her jaw, then her throat. His beard was pleasantly ticklish, and his body felt warm and vital against hers. She moaned, flattening her palm against his chest and urged him onto his back with a grin, straddling him and leaning down to indulge in a slow but needy kiss. His hands immediately traveled down to rest on her ass, squeezing and kneading as their mouths and lips moved together in a lazy, passionate duet. If he skipped the rest of his grooming and morning workout, she mused, they’d have plenty of time.

The data pad next to the bed blared, and she cursed under her breath, sitting up. 

“It’s probably nothing,” he insisted , to her utter surprise. 

Marcus? Suggesting they ignore duty for pleasure? This was definitely a new side to him. She smirked and reached over, blindly rejecting the call before leaning down to kiss him again. He groaned against her lips and started to urge shirt up, fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts, but the device rang again.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” She sat up, grabbed the tablet, and answered the video call, not bothering to remove herself from his lap. “What?” she snapped. 

It was Thelonious. That bastard truly had impeccable timing. 

He glanced between them on the screen and blushed, shifting uncomfortably.

“Kane ,  Abby,” he greeted, averting his eyes best he could.

“What is it, Thelonious?” she demanded. “It’s practically the middle of the night.” 

“It’s… approaching six in the morning, Abby.” the Chancellor answered, frowning but with a hint of amusement concealed beneath his usual stoicism. 

“Ignore her. She thinks morning starts no earlier than noon,” Marcus said with a smirk as he sat.

“Well, I’ll make this quick,” Thelonious began. “I need you two to have something to bring before the Council today. We’re going to be discussing the oxygen crisis, and, due to yesterday’s accident, I’ll be accepting individual proposals ahead of schedule. Our time table is moving up on this whole thing.”

Abby’s heart sunk. Between the quarantine on Alpha, the fatalities yesterday, and, well, sex with Marcus, she hadn’t had time to formulate anything of substance. She’d forgotten about the Council meeting altogether. Her thoughts strayed back in medical, with the teenage girl they’d rescued, and the terror in her eyes, or on the baby, on Clarke, on everything else but the most pressing need in front of them. She absently wondered if that was her own way of dealing with the stress--compartmentalizing it all until it was out of mind altogether.

“We’ll be there,” Marcus assured him. “Thank you, Thelonious.” He reached to take the data pad from her hands and ended the call, before turning his attention towards her and stroking her cheek. “Abby?” he asked gently.

She remained on his lap lost in thought, not fully registering his voice. 

They were running out of time. Their people were going to die in several months’ time, if not sooner, and they needed a way out that didn’t involve mass murder.

“Abby?” he asked again, and she jumped this time, turning her face to him. He was staring at her worriedly as he continued to stroke her cheek.

Sighing, she slowly slid off of his lap and sat back against the pillows, drawing her knees up and fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt she was wearing. She silently reviewed a few options she’d been exploring in private, most of them frustratingly dead ends.

“I know you’re against population reduction, Abby, and believe me, I understand why, but I’m afraid I don’t have anything else,” he said regretfully, voice hushed and eyes silently pleading.

She glanced at him, then around the room, eyes settling on the photo of her, Jake, and Clarke that Marcus had generously made room for on his small desk. Her heart sank.  _ Population reduction.  _ She knew that if they didn’t do something, she may not live long enough to see her daughter again, that Clarke would never grow up to fulfill her own dreams and aspirations. Chest tightening, she rested a hand on her stomach and closed her eyes. 

She feared for the future of  _ both  _ of her children.

Her mind drifted back to her dream, to Earth, and she opened her eyes, peering out the window at the glowing blue orb suspended in the dark, starry sky, beckoning her, calling out to her. 

“So… I assume we’re finished here?” Marcus asked sheepishly, startling her. 

She shot him a smirk and hesitated, then shrugged and slowly slid back onto his lap. “Ten minutes. That’s it.”

“That’s all I need.”

“Charming.”

She kissed him, hard and hungrily, dominating his mouth with her own until all she could focus on was pleasure.

* * * * 

Abby entered engineering, nodding to him and looking around a little nervously. This was the first time since Jake had passed that she was setting foot in here, and while the space itself threatened to fill her with memories and images of him bent over a work station while she visited him on his lunch, his skin marred with grease stains and electrical burns, she was here for a reason, and it was far bigger than her grief. 

“Sinclair.”

The engineer shoved goggles up onto his head of curly hair, peering up at her in surprise. 

“Doctor Griffin. To what do I owe this honor?” 

“I, um… I have a few things to run by you. May I?” She gestured towards the stool next to him. 

He nodded and cleared some wiring off of it, then pulled it out for her. “Please.”

She sat and picked up a small metal casing discarded on the table, fidgeting with it as she contemplated how to begin.

“I had some questions about Earth.”

“Uh, okay.” Sinclair nodded, expression growing quizzical. 

“I know that the ground isn’t supposed to be survivable for another century,” she began, studying him carefully, “but do we know that for certain?” 

His eyes widened briefly and he removed his goggles completely, setting them aside on the table in front of him. He hesitated before answering, “Well, I suppose nothing is certain, but from what we know about nuclear holocaust, the time table we’re working with is fairly accurate,” he explained. “From radioactive fallout to the nuclear winter that Earth suffered, the amount of residual radiation to be expected would make the ground uninhabitable for humans, yes.”

“Sure, but I’ve been thinking… our people have been exposed to far more radiation than someone, say, living on Earth a hundred years ago before the nukes. Right?”

“Theoretically, yes. Earth’s atmosphere ultimately shielded its population from most of the radiation than we face here in space,” he answered, frowning. “Where are you going with this, Abby?”

“I assume you’ve run simulations that dictate the earliest the ground could be survivable again?” she asked.

Sinclair nodded. “Of course.”

“Have you factored in the human body selectively evolving to withstand higher levels of radiation than our ancestors?” 

He slowly shook his head. 

She gestured towards his computer. “Run them again.”

* * * *

The Council was on edge today, and understandably so. There was a nervous energy in the air as members filed in and made uneasy conversation, a few sitting in silence, and most of them fidgeting in some way or another. Abby took her seat and shot an anxious glance between Marcus and Thelonious. They both looked tense as hell, and Marcus forced a tight smile her way as he sat down across from her, his jaw taut and brow furrowed. 

The meeting began as usual, with the previous minutes being approved and Thelonious making the motion to proceed with today’s agenda. Abby seconded the motion and nervously fidgeted with her data pad.

Her palms were sweaty. She felt sick.

When Thelonious called on her, she felt her mind threaten to leave her body, wanting to float out of the room and drift off into space where she could live amongst the stars and never have to deal with this nightmare again. It’d be one hell of a spacewalk.

She stood, shaky fingers clutching the device and carrying it in tow. She rounded the table and came to stand at the front of the room, heart pounding. Swallowing hard, she opened a file on her screen and locked eyes with Marcus. He gave her a faint, reassuring nod and, ever the astute observer, sat back in his seat, examining the expressions of the rest of the Council. 

“The crisis we’re facing threatens the lives of everyone on the Ark,” she began. “It doesn’t matter your age, your status, your position, we all need oxygen to breathe. But… the CO2 scrubbers _are_ failing, and each time they overload, we run the risk of never getting them back online again. Which is why I met with Sinclair today. There’s a specific theory we’re exploring, one that involves a rather unconventional approach to our survival. And I just ask that all of you hear me out before making any conclusions.” 

She paused, glancing around the room. All eyes were on her, eager, nervous, anticipatory, but hopeful.

“It’s recently come to my attention that, despite our earlier predictions… the ground may actually be survivable.”

Several gasps erupted throughout the chamber, followed by a chaotic spike of conversation, indignation, and a rapid-fire of questions. Thelonious quickly quieted them, staring at her in surprise. 

“Doctor Griffin, please continue.”

Drawing a shaky breath, Abby sent her findings and projections to everyone’s devices and began walking the Council through the numbers. She proposed sending an exploratory dropship to the ground containing a hundred Ark citizens.

And for one of the first times in the history of their entire adult relationship, Marcus voted in favor of her proposal.


End file.
